Chapter 19

19

Hank

A guarded look crossed Thala's face when she returned the laptop.

"Hope your sister isn't too worried."

"She's fine. She's seen me worse." Thala averted her gaze and played with the edge of the quilt. I took my seat beside her and picked up her left hand.

"What's wrong, Princess?"

"Don't call me that."

My mouth tipped up at one corner. "General?"

She expelled a breath of laughter. "Definitely not that."

"Hey." I gently touched her chin, so she gave me her eyes. "What's wrong?" I repeated.

"This."

My hand fell away from her face, punched by her words, slayed by the look of despair in her eyes.

"Me?"

"No," she said. "The situation. For the first time in my twenty-nine years, I feel like I'm living."

I exhaled a sigh of relief. I could work with this. "We didn't ride the Ferris wheel."

She laughed again. "I can't say the day was a fail. You nailed it with the High Striker and I had my first corn dog."

"I hope feeling like living doesn't boil down to having a corn dog."

She gave me a look that was a mix between annoyance and fondness. "Do I have to spell it out to you?"

The look of vulnerability did all kinds of acrobatics inside my chest. Goddammit. How could she be adorable, vulnerable, and badass all rolled into one? But the walls I'd built up all these years were still there. There'd been cracks in it since Garrison got me involved in our little rogue team in Los Angeles, but they were cracks I could live with and still maintain my nomadic existence. I swallowed. "It's me, then?" But I had to include a safety net of words even if my mouth fought to keep them in. "Because we agreed this wasn't permanent."

A shadow fell on her face, and she nodded. "We did." Then her eyes flashed. "But we also agreed that we would make the most of our time together."

"Which is probably two days max," I told her. Garrison told me the queen was arranging for the princess's safe passage and I told him I could call in a favor. He was going to work that out with the queen because at that moment, with Ramsay still in the hot seat and Petros compromised, she had to trust G as well as me.

"Did Garrison tell you about why this is happening?"

"Briefly," I said. "White hydrogen, huh?"

She grinned. "I told my sister if she'd trusted me sooner, then this wouldn't have happened…but…" Her eyes clouded. "Then I wouldn't have met you." She leaned into me and winced, so I moved to her side that wasn't injured and got her settled against my chest.

"I haven't thanked you enough for saving Jim," I said.

"You don't have to thank me. If I hadn't taken up so much of your time, you probably would have looked out—"

"Don't." I shushed her. "I'm a firm believer of things happening for a reason."

"Well, your belief sucks," she grumbled.

I wasn't sure what she meant, so I squeezed her shoulder. "What?"

"This is torture, don't you know? I finally meet a man who can give me mind-blowing orgasms and then I'm injured, on pain meds, and I'm sure you're too much of a gentleman to ask for sex."

I choked on a laugh. "Got that right."

"You told me you can't stand to be near me and not sink into me."

"Don't say that." I groaned, giving me an image of me pounding between her legs. "It's not really about the sex."

"Oh?"

"Well, it's more about being close to you this way."

"Oh."

"Yes," I said, kissing the tip of her nose. "Oh."

"You're very sweet, Hank Bristow."

"And you're a fascinating woman, Thala Targen," I said. "When I first met you…" I gave a shake of my head with suppressed mirth.

"I was a pain in the ass," she finished for me. "Admit it."

"I wouldn't say a pain, but you were uptight."

"You're a stranger. Of course I wasn't comfortable around you and you grated on my nerves too with your smiles when there was nothing to smile about. I have my armor and that's being black and white, no shades of gray. I guess you have yours."

"You're saying my smiles are armor?" Where was she going with this?

"I don't trust people who smile all the time."

"Ouch."

"But with you, I don't think it's to hide malice or deception. It's to prevent people from knowing they hurt you."

"Whoa there with the psychoanalyzing, baby."

"But I'm right? Right?"

"Are you thirsty? Hungry?"

I untangled my arms around her. I needed a bit of distance. Just a little. She was burning too close to the truth. I had nothing to hide from her, but this was an unexpected pivot in our conversation I wasn't ready to face.

"I could use a Coke. I need something sweet and fizzy to remove the cotton from my mouth."

"Gotcha. Do you want chicken soup? Nothing fancy, I'm afraid. It's out of a can."

She shrugged. "That's fine."

After I made my way to the kitchen, she called out, "Don't think I don't know you're trying to deflect. You're not getting off that easy."

"I'm not getting off at all," I teased. "I just came to the conclusion that in case you're tired of your Amazonian exhibitions, you might have a future in Venusstean PSYOP."

"We don't have a PSYOP department."

"You sure about that?"

"You're right. Maybe Ramsay set one up. I wouldn't put it past him."

"I thought G cleared him."

"Doesn't mean I like him. But my sister loves him, so…"

"Wait…what?"

I dumped two cans of chicken noodle into the pot and started it on a simmer. Then I got Thala's Coke and a beer for myself and headed back to her.

"Don't tell me your Garrison didn't pick up on that."

"Oh, if there's something going on there, I'm sure he picked it up just fine." Hell, he could tell I slept with Thala simply from a phone conversation.

I flicked the tab on the Coke can and handed it to her before resuming my place beside her. "How long?"

"I'd say for sure it's been going on for a year."

"And?"

"And nothing. Unless the Argent law changes, he can't be more."

"Any hopes of the laws changing?"

"I told her to talk to Petros, but with the stean basin deal, that had put them at odds. I think that's why she's afraid to broach it."

"Because it'll give Petros leverage."

"Yes. And for my sister, the good of Venusstea will always be her priority."

"I see."

"I don't want to talk about that archaic law," she said sharply. "Tell me about you."

"Icebreaker questions again?"

"No. I want you to tell me how Jim was the one who raised you unless…" She peered at me. "It brings up too many bad memories."

I angled my gaze at her. My mouth wanted to kick up in humor. "Are you trying to reverse psychoanalyze me, Thala Targen?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, all innocent.

"Seriously, you could have a future in interrogations."

"I'll keep that in mind."

I didn't open up to her until I served her chicken soup. I felt bad that I didn't serve her anything better to contribute to her experience of "living life." But she didn't seem to mind at all. She wasn't a foodie like I was. To her, it was basic sustenance, not something to find pleasure in. But if she hung around me long enough, I would convert her. I pushed away the sinking feeling that I had two days left with her. Maybe even less.

"So tell me how Holden Buchanan became Hank Bristow?" Thala asked, slurping soup.

I positioned her against the arm of the couch and had her stretch out her legs. I also put a pillow under her knees and covered her with a quilt. I liked taking care of her and hated that it was for the wrong reasons. Thala didn't push away my pampering, but neither did she want me unnecessarily fussing over her because of her injuries. I was just rolling with whatever she was comfortable with.

"I guess it's useless to hide that Garrison and I work for a covert group."

"You haven't confirmed CIA."

"And I won't. Just read between the lines, okay?"

"Let's back up a little. Or way back. You mentioned Jim raised you?"

I had a standard packaged reply for that. I didn't have to tell her the whole sordid story. "My dad died when I was nine. Mom followed a year later. It was my mother who was a Buchanan. Nine siblings. My mother was the middle child and she and Jim were close."

"Buchanan. You didn't take your father's last name?"

I stiffened and struggled to formulate a reply to that. "It would make it easier for me going forward." I gave a self- deprecating laugh. "Although none of my relatives, including my grandparents, wanted to take care of a kid who'd been suspended more times than any other kid in his school."

"You were a troublemaker?" Thala smiled.

"More like I was bored. But I was a Buchanan, so I always got a pass. I hated that too," I said.

"Jim must have had a lot of patience."

"Not really. But like I said, he and Mom were close. I couldn't say he did it out of responsibility." I paused a few seconds before I continued, "I think it's because he really felt that…" I cleared my throat. "That I was all he had left of his sister."

Thala stared at me for a while with those penetrating gray eyes of hers that would do fantastically in interrogations. I gave her the gist of my family history in a less than personal way. Thinking of my parents' marriage left a bitter taste on my tongue. It was a past I never wanted to discuss with anyone. Not even Thala. But anxiety embedded a discomfort that I couldn't say no to if she probed for more.

She opened her mouth, but clamped it shut again. Instead, Thala ate more soup before she asked, "What age did you join the SEALs?"

I was getting a reprieve from the firing squad.

Thala

"I joined the Navy right out of high school. I was eighteen, but didn't get to apply for the SEALs until a year later." He continued to talk about the time he suffered through Hell Week. As I half listened to his anecdotes about what he and his batch of Navy men went through, I caught the relief on Hank's face when I moved on to ask about the SEALs. His unemotional narration of his parents' death made it a struggle not to react and ask questions. He didn't lose his parents when he was a baby. He lost them at a period in his life when such a loss would hit him hardest. He glossed over those details too fast and didn't want to pause for me to ask questions.

Military ops talk was his safe zone.

"…I was assigned to Team-4, then it was Team-6—"

"Whoa, you were Team-6?"

He smirked. "That's what the public knows as the top tier. There's another group that even the SEALs themselves don't know about, and it's by invitation."

"Was that when you became Hank Bristow?"

His brows drew together. "How did you know about that?"

I shrugged, but was pleased. I caught on quickly, even when another part of my brain was trying to process his childhood. "Because I'm that good."

"You need to work for us," he replied.

He had that grin on his face. He was joking, of course, but I couldn't help saying, "Do you have room for a has-been princess?"

He froze, the soup spoon halfway to his mouth, before he returned it to the bowl and set it on the coffee table. "What do you mean has-been?"

"Just throwing things out there. What if I'm not a princess anymore?"

All traces of humor vanished from his face so quickly, I wanted to retract my words.

"You mean abdicate." The words sounded strangled.

"Renounce," I corrected. "Abdicate would be Amadea. Let's talk hypothetical because there's never been a royal who renounced their title in the House of Targen."

"Okay." He leaned back on the opposite side of the couch. "We're contractors. Most of us do it for a job. Like for me, I took a break from Garrison's contracts to hunt down human traffickers these last three years."

I leaned forward with interest. "Really?"

"That's how I made connections in the underworld that proved useful to both our current problems."

"I'm not following."

"A few of Fisker's board members are part of Russian organized crime. Bruno is one of their enforcers."

"Are they coming after us? Is that why Garrison is sending extra security to us? Is the cabin secure?" When I thought of Russian organized crime (ROC) as was mentioned in our parliament briefings, they always involved a level of arms trafficking. High-powered weapons like Uzis and submachine guns capable of turning this little cabin into Swiss cheese.

"Don't worry," Hank assured me. "When the news of your heroics and the video hit the internet, I received a call from Luca Moretti." When my brows drew together, he elaborated, "He's the boss of the Chicago crime family."

"You have a direct line to Chicago organized crime?"

"Amongst other things," he replied with a smirk. "We were allies in taking down human traffickers a few years ago. And this past spring, I helped his wife get clear on a debt with the ROC."

"His wife?"

A guarded look crossed his face. "I can't tell you any more. Mafia business is a don't-ask-don't-tell, but what I've told you except for his wife's dilemma is already on the news."

"How do your connections help us?"

"Bruno is facing jail time, and he's going to get it. But the fear is that Fisker is going to send someone else to intimidate the Buchanans. Luca has enough clout with Fisker's board to have them back down."

"Won't that piss off your other relatives? They want out, right?"

"They do. But Luca told me there'll be other offers…ones from less shady corporations like Fisker who wouldn't use mob intimidation to get what they want. He told me to talk to his niece who has experience in vineyard redevelopment. Jim doesn't want to sell. There's a guilt in me that I just want the easy way out…but…"

My breath caught at the meaningful look in his eyes. "But…"

"I'm experiencing this place again through your eyes and it's replacing the bad memories."

I didn't want to break the moment and ask him about the bad memories. Was I selfish? Did I only want Hank for his strengths and not his vulnerabilities? "You said both our problems. How does this Moretti guy help with mine?"

"He has a fleet of planes. We could get you on a secure flight to Venusstea on short notice. Garrison has other options too with a buddy of his, Kade Spear. Do you know him?"

"Oh, I do. I know his wife, Yara Emerson, more." She was an icon and a visionary in the world of humanitarian aid.

"So getting you back to Venusstea won't be a problem. The question is when?"

A scuffing at the kitchen back door saved me from answering. "I'm not sure. I don't feel like taking a long trip right now except across the kitchen to say hi to Edgar."