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He tried not to react when she spoke about her younger sister, but a rush of emotion jammed up in his chest, and he clenched his fists. Everything with Sakari came rushing back and he found they had something in common. Both of their sisters were lost, just in different ways. But this was her grief, not his. He cleared his throat of the lump. “But you continued presenting yourself as Indian?”
“It’s easy to identify with my Indian heritage. When I look in the mirror, that’s what I look like. I was easily accepted into the community. I admit it caused me guilt and felt like I was being less authentic. I feel an obligation not to let the Torres Strait Islander identity I inherited from my mother disappear into the Indian I inherited from my father. I’m not sure where it leaves me. I’ve learned that islanders talk less about race, a division of people based on physical characteristics, and more about ethnicity, where our ancestors are from.”
“You like that?”
“Yes, I do. My parents went to great lengths to make sure that we could succeed. My sister just chose to be more herself, and I’m proud of her for that. Now, though, I’m finding it more important to me to recognize both parts of my heritage, with the Torres Strait Islander needing the most push. Being Indian felt very easy, like everyone encouraged me just by their acceptance toward the mainstream culture to assimilate. I had no connection to the Torres Strait Islanders because my mother chose to suppress it for the good of her children…” Her tone changed, got lower and softer. “Or the pressure of my father and the racism…so it was effortless to let my Indian heritage overshadow and swallow up my Torres Strait Islander culture. It’s always been a huge regret.” She tucked some hair behind her ear, looking up at him. “So, yes, I didn’t protest and wanted to spare myself the stigma and negative stereotypes. I found it more profound in college, and then in my career. I thought it best to stay with one race to make it easier to get ahead.”
“What changed?”
She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, and Kodiak could see tears gathering in her lashes. “Afghanistan,” she whispered. “This identity crisis, my guilt and pain, all stem from that terrible day.”
Her despair cut him to the quick, and at this point in time, he was disgusted with his own government and their lack of competence during that terrifying time. And something gave way inside him. He rose and went to her. He caught her by the back of the neck. “How? How did your race play a part in that day?”
She looked at him, quiet for a moment, and Kodiak saw the horrible memory in her eyes. “When the bomb went off, I was dazed. Not really with it.” She stared at him, more tears damming up, and the look in her eyes almost did him in. Disconnecting from the feelings rising up, he gave her neck a gentle squeeze, prompting her to continue. “My interpreter, Afsoon Haydar, took me to the gate and because of the way that I look, my brown skin, he had to fight to convince the Marine guard there that I was Australian.” Kodiak’s heart broke as she described it, her voice fracturing with every word. “Because of that, he had to leave his family behind to get me through the gate. Once he got me settled, he went back for his family. I never saw or heard from him again.”
She didn’t have to tell him more. At that time, he was working on getting any allies out of hostile areas. He understood her despair, but he had a different view of what happened between her and her interpreter. “That’s not your fault, or the fault of your race that your interpreter was lost. There are so many tragic stories from those desperate days, and everyone involved on our side was doing the best they could to get everyone that needed to be evacuated out. I’m sorry this happened to you, but you shouldn’t blame yourself.”
“I can’t seem to work it out in my head or heart.” That stark look was back in her eyes. Obviously struggling, she clasped his forearm. She never took her eyes off him, and his gut clenched when he felt her shiver. Then she closed her eyes and swallowed hard, two tears spilling out. “He deserved so much more from me. I was supposed to save him and his family, and instead, they saved me. I can’t reconcile that. It’s been two years, and I can’t shake that feeling of failure.”
He gently cupped her bruised face, knowing that she was just as bruised and battered inside. His tone soft and persuasive, he said, “We’ll continue to talk about this. I think we, together, can put everything into perspective. Give yourself time, and a break for now Kaiya. You need to get some more rest.” Clearly struggling with a whole bunch of emotions, she tipped her head back, wrestling with her demons. Kodiak watched her, his gut in a knot. He could almost feel her internal battle—her sense of self warring with her failure. “Come on, babe.”
She lifted her chin, a stubborn look coming into her eyes.
“Don’t even think about arguing with me, Kaiya,” he said, his tone firm. “You’re going back to bed.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “You’re very high-handed,” she whispered brokenly. “You know that?”
He knew it just wasn’t in her to go down without a struggle. “Yeah, and there’s no getting around this tree trunk.”
She released a soft laugh and hit him lightly on the arm. “Don’t make me laugh,” she groaned, even as her eyes twinkled.
He slipped his arm around her and started for the bedroom.
Her warmth and scent wrapped around him, and Kodiak forced himself to move, to get her beyond his temptation, but she moved her head, and her hair brushed his jaw. Kodiak fought off his deep attraction to her. He was a disciplined warrior, and it took all his willpower to keep himself in check. She was in no shape for the kind of contact he needed right now. He clenched his jaw, his whole body on red alert. He needed to get distance between them. But his mind rebelled, telling him that was a lie, that he wanted her closer. Much closer.
When they reached the doorframe, she caught him totally off guard by gripping his arm, then stretching up to kiss him on the cheek. “You are my hero,” she murmured. Then she slipped through the door. He watched her go, his lungs suddenly so tight it was impossible to get air into them.
10
For the next three days,Kaiya rested, ate some deliciouschow chowKodiak made, and by the fourth day she was ready to get back to work. She was in the shower, washing off three days of recovery, enjoying the pain-free movement. All that was left were a few cuts; her bruises had faded into a bluish-purple and black.
Their investigation had come to a screeching halt and each of them felt the pressure of time running out. David Larkin was still at large and the AFP, base security, and the SEALs still searching for him. His wife was frantic. No luck in finding even a whisper of information regarding the NSH Four as they’d been dubbed: Barry Turner, Sonny Robinson, Heath Ferguson, and Louis Campbell. Unfortunately, Archie Baker was still uncommunicative, and he was their best lead so far. Her gut told her he was the dangling string that, if pulled, would unravel the whole plot associated with him. It concerned her that they had four suspects and three possible attacks. One had already been confirmed with David Larkin on the loose, his target: US Naval Base Sydney and to top it off, the lead to find the women NSH had abducted was stalled.
She turned off the water and basked in the warmth of the bathroom, pushing back the curtain and grabbing a towel off the rack. Gingerly, she blotted her face, then wiped down her neck. Stepping out of the shower unit, she toweled the remaining parts of her body, then wrapped her hair into the terry.
Over the course of her recovery, she had a lot of time to think about what Kodiak had said about her deep guilt and sense of failure regarding Afghanistan. Discovering how close her sense of self, her very identity, was mixed up in that swirl of anguish, helped her to see things so much more clearly. With clarity also came healing. She was still raw about it, but his understanding and support had gone a long way to mending some of the pain associated with the whole incident.
She had been wrong to blanket blame all Americans. She knew from firsthand experience how unfair it was to generalize.
The other problem she was having was keeping her hands off him. From that first morning when she’d seen him in all his almost naked glory, she had many and varied fever dreams about him.
She’d woken up, her body still hurting, her face still swollen, her mind in a sleep and medication daze to see him bending over her. Normally, his pitch-black hair was combed off his face, but he was just out of the shower fresh, those thick, glossy strands tousled around his head, the ends curled damply around the back of his jaw, framing his uniquely handsome face, accentuating those high cheekbones of his, along with those full lips, his strong jaw, and powerful neck.
And his body. Where to start? Broad Grand Canyon shoulders, with a wide chest spanning between them, his pecs well-defined, and his abs in a six pack, tapering down to those narrow hips and his thickly muscled thighs, the towel fitting tight to his groin. And covering all that heavy muscle, smooth copper skin with a fine sheen of moisture from the shower. Athletically fit and a little rough around the edges, Kodiak had that elite warrior’s body honed to perfection from his constant training. Thank you, Uncle Sam.
But that wasn’t all the parts of this amazing man. There was his compassion, his ability to remain balanced in the way he looked at the world, and that sudden, and brief glimpse at his own pain he hadn’t yet shared with her.
When she’d talked about her sister, there had been a moment when agony had flashed into those usually calm eyes. She ached to know what had put that pain there.
