Susan Warren - Point Of No Return

Chet?

He looked good, too. Dark curly hair, a little shorter than she remembered. Rumpled in a gray snap-button denim shirt rolled up just above the elbows. And a messenger bag slung across his chest. He stared at her with those piercing blue eyes that seemed to be able, in this moment, to stun her into silence. Chet Stryker. The man who’d told her that she couldn’t ever be on his team. That she couldn’t keep up.

That he didn’t want her in his life.

He had her off balance—that was why she let him drag her back toward the shadowy enclave between two doors. She was still reeling when he pushed her against the wall, bracketed her between his arms, and said tightly, “Can’t you listen to anything I say?”

And then, because it felt right, because he deserved it, because all her adrenaline suddenly peaked, she hit him again.

Square in the chest. “Apparently not.”

“Why do you always have to make things so difficult?” Chet rubbed his chest where Mae had boxed him. The first two punches he’d taken—after all, he had pounced on her like a bandit, but he’d been trying to keep her from igniting an international incident. The last thing he needed was to alert the local militia to his presence in the country.

The third punch, however, hurt more than it should have. Especially since Mae had looked him square in the face, full recognition in those beautiful green eyes, right before she walloped him.

Although he probably deserved that one, too. Not just for stomping on her hopes of flying for Stryker International, but also for walking out of her life.

Or perhaps for letting her believe that he could make room for her in his heart.

Okay, she still took up way too much room in his heart, but she didn’t have to know that. No, that wouldn’t be safe for anyone.

Mae stalked down the street, ten feet ahead of him, fists tight, as if she might be trying not to hit him again. He’d vote for that. In fact, he should probably be ecstatic that she was heading in the opposite direction of the embassy, that she’d bought his reasoning that the government would only send them packing stateside. Unfortunately, he’d expected—no, hoped was more accurate—that she’d actually be happy to see him. That her eyes would light up, and maybe she’d throw her arms around him.

He’d been jostled around the cargo hold of the C-130 harder than he’d thought.

She looked better than the image his imagination had conjured up. Her auburn hair had grown, and she wore it in a sloppy, curly, tantalizing ponytail. Despite trying to hide her figure inside a pair of baggy cargo pants, a green T-shirt and a canvas jacket, she took his breath away. She still looked like she had the day he’d met her—about ready to bullet a group of disrespectful teenage boys with gooey tortilla wraps.

They’d deserved it. He would have helped her, even. Something about her—the spark in her eye, the pride in her jaw, the way she turned away, hiding her pain—stirred his respect. Of course, he knew the story—thanks to his pal David Curtiss, one of Mae’s college buddies—of how she’d risked her life for her friend Roman and rescued him from a Siberian gulag, and just what it had netted her.

No pension. No job. Stripped of her very identity as a soldier.

Seeing her pain had made him suddenly long to make it all better. To make her smile.

Just another person he’d managed to disappoint.

At least he hadn’t gotten her killed.

Yet.

Unfortunately, it might be easier to reason with a rhinoceros than with Mae when she was in this kind of mood.

He dashed to catch up and was on her heel when she whirled. He plowed right into her and had to grab her to keep them both from going over.

She shook out of his grip. Opened her mouth. Closed it. Glared him into a pile of ash.

“Still not using our words, are we?” Chet stepped back and held up his hands. “Okay, I’ll fill in the blanks. I’m here to help you find your nephew. And the runaway princess.”

For the first time, her expression flickered. He leaped on it.

“Yep, I said princess. From a Caucasian tribe. Did you know she’s pledged to be married in a few days, and guess who ran off with the bride?”

Mae’s expression drained and she rolled her eyes—or perhaps looked heavenward for help. Which he was all for, at the moment.

“The bottom line is, your nephew is in big trouble, and I’m here to find him.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a plane ticket. “Alone. You’re headed back to the states, Mae.”

Before you get killed.

“In your wildest dreams, pal.” Mae turned on her heel.

Well, uh, yes, actually. Because in his nightmares she stuck around to get tortured and killed by Akif Bashim.

He grabbed her wrist. “I’ll drag you to the airport if I have to.”

She snapped her wrist away. “I never thought I’d actually be glad to say this, but…you’re not my boss.”

He flinched a little at that. “No, but I do know this country and what happens when people get caught in the crossfire. Which, if you didn’t happen to notice, is exactly what’s happening in that little hot spot of the world Josh and his girlfriend seem to have gone walk-about in. So, yes, honey, you’re leaving.”

Mae, as if deaf, kept walking.

“Oh, nice, Mae.”

She ignored him. And where exactly was she going? He sped up behind her, matching her long strides. “I thought you might be glad to see me—after all, you called me.”

She stomped along in silence.

“C’mon, Mae, listen to me. I am on your side here, believe it or not. It’ll be better for Josh if you go and let me track him down. I can travel faster, and I know the language and—”

She stopped.

He skidded to a halt and took a step back. “What?”

Her stare could probably leave blisters. “You want me to leave so I won’t get in the way, is that it? It’s too risky to work with me, so you’ll just kick me to the curb?”

He opened his mouth, ready to refute her, but of course nothing came out. Because, as usual, she’d bulls-eyed it. He lifted a shoulder in a rueful shrug.

She shook her head, as if dispelling some inner voice, and stared at him a long time. Oh, Mae, why do you make this all so hard? Why couldn’t she be the kind of woman who didn’t have to be on the front lines of trouble? The one who’d let him take her out for ice cream? The girl he’d envisioned on the other end of his emails? The one he’d known for a crazy, romantic week in Seattle?

Or maybe he hadn’t known her at all.

She finally spoke, her words losing some of their heat, yet still stiff with anger. “If you knew anything about me, anything at all, Chet, you would know that I will not just go home and leave Josh here. I’m not built that way. I don’t know what’s going on with him—why he did this, or who this princess is—” She added air quotes, as if he couldn’t catch her tone.

“She’s the daughter of a warlord.”

“Perfect. For all I know, he’s being held against his will. But I made a promise to my sister. And I keep my promises.”

Right. He did know that about her.

“So, you go ahead and do whatever you need to do. Find the princess, save the world. Whatever. But you need to stay out of my way. Yasna?”

He hated it when she spoke Russian. It only reminded him that she had friends and experiences that didn’t fit into the neat, safe world he wanted her to live in. Worse, as she met his eyes, unblinking, he saw that the anger had vanished, only to be replaced by something more frightening.

Resolve.

And when she turned and stalked out again for parts unknown, all he could do was follow.

Wasn’t this just swell? He had four days to find a runaway princess, talk her into helping save the world by marrying a man twice her age, and stop a love-struck teenager from starting an international incident, all while trying to keep up with—forget ahead of—the woman he most wanted to protect in the world.