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Cobra shook his head, saying nothing, but I knew I was right. We were cut from the same cloth. He trudged up the stairs, remaining tense. Why did I have a feeling he was going to remain on guard all night?
“You can have the master bedroom.”
“That’s not fair to you,” I said.
“Haven’t you learned by now that life isn’t fair?” He opened the door, placing the bag on the floor. “I don’t think I need to tell you this, Isabella, but here are the rules and one more breach and I won’t hold back reminding you that I’m the one in charge. The windows are bulletproof, so do not open them under any circumstances. You’re not to go outside without permission and keep the blinds closed. While I have security cameras in several locations, and other measures that will prevent anyone from stepping foot on this property without my knowledge, as I mentioned, the Russians will do anything. That includes the use of long-range snipers. Understood?”
“Got it.”
“I hope you do. Make yourself at home. There are fresh towels in the bathroom closet.”
“What if I need a few things?”
He narrowed his eyes, and I could swear he was undressing me with them. “Try and make do.”
“Yes, sir.” I hung in the doorway as he headed toward the stairs. “Thank you.”
“For what, princess?”
“For not calling me crazy.”
* * *
Jagger
The darkness was no longer my friend. Once it had been, a quiet time to reflect on decisions or an upcoming mission. Then everything had changed, spiraling my mind as well as my eyes into a dark pit as deep as the one I’d been kept in for over a year. Every sound had been magnified, every single noise drilling into me until I’d started to crack.
Even worse was that after my rescue, I couldn’t stand the light. The doctors had told me that it would take months for my eyes to adjust and that I should wear sunglasses even while indoors. What the battery of specialists hadn’t figured out was that the darkness had suddenly become my refuge, allowing my mind to heal. Or so I’d hoped.
Even now as I closed my eyes, I could see the faces of the men I’d served with while a Raider. We’d been a close team, soldiers who would die to protect another. I’d taken two bullets for men who would have died had I not intervened. I’d saved an entire tank by maneuvering it out of harm’s way. The acts had earned me several medals, none of which I felt the right to claim.
My Glock remained on my lap, a constant reminder that I was on duty. I aimlessly fingered the barrel, my thoughts scattered. There’d been at least a half dozen times I’d contemplated shoving it into my mouth and pulling the trigger. Before entering the Marines, I’d never been prone to bouts of depression, even after my mother had lost her battle with addiction. I’d promised myself that I would do better. What I hadn’t planned on was the loneliness, the ache that never left even when I was with my division or a huge crowd inside a bar.
Therapists had told it my inability to connect with anyone was based solely on the time spent in a fucking hole. I’d laughed incredulously, wondering how they’d gotten their degrees in the first place. I’d figured that out all on my own.
I lifted the gun, staring at the hard, cold steel, struggling to remain in the here and now. There were too many memories, ugliness that nothing had abated. As soon as I pointed the barrel against my temple, I thought of Isabella. She hadn’t signed up for this shit. No one asked to be born into a specific family. I’d loved my mother, even if she’d barely been more than a child herself.
Sighing, I put the weapon on the table, snagging the glass instead. Maybe this mission would save my life.
Maybe.
Sadly, I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d been responsible for several lives lost.
Because of one ridiculous decision. I pulled the glass to my lips, taking a gulp of whiskey, praying to God it would ease some of the pain. Sadly, alcohol had never dimmed the visions even a little.
Fuck.
Was the girl serious about her father? I could buy that’s what she believed, but as far as reality, I wasn’t certain. Whatever the case, there were missing pieces of information. Whether Isabella knew what they were or not remained to be seen. I thought about the scenario including what little she’d told me about the laboratory.
What if there was someone working on the inside? That would take a hell of a plan initiated by the enemy, but I’d seen it done before. I’d experienced it before. I couldn’t rule out anything. As I thought about the dossier on Isabella as well as the limited data on the project she was involved in, I couldn’t imagine how it was possible, but she remained troubled by the concept.
Why did I get the feeling she knew more than she was telling me?
As I sat in the oversized leather chair, the single luxury I’d allowed myself after taking possession of the cabin, all I could do was stare at the crackling fire. I took another sip of whiskey, shifting my gaze briefly to the half empty bottle on the table. The pleasure of getting a good night’s sleep had also been robbed from me. In the past, sleeping had allowed the enemy to sneak up, able to get a jump start on torture. I’d learned to survive on no more than two hours.
I was exhausted tonight, but neither the liquor nor the long day had brought even fifteen minutes of sleep. I tried to pull my attention away from the licking flames, but I continued to see faces in them, those of men I’d served with who’d died. It was another crutch, so the psychiatrists had told me, a way of easing the pain.
Bull fucking shit. It was nothing more than a reminder that I hadn’t been there the day they were ripped apart, the entire unit destroyed in a matter of minutes. Fuck.
