The Warrior

He stifled a smile. Now he knew where to go. His suitcase was already packed. He was willing to leave her here on her own if she chose, or she could keep on running. But tomorrow morning, he was going to Miami.

Even though he’d gotten the information from her that he needed, he decided to keep her talking. The more he knew, the more likely his success would be, and he was long overdue for success.

“Why are you running from your father?”

Alicia pulled the sweater up beneath her chin and looked back across the water.

“It’s an ugly story.”

“I’ve heard ugly before.”

She was startled by the undisguised anger in his voice, reminding her that she was about to spend the night with a stranger. Still, he’d taken a chance for her. He deserved to know that what he’d done might put him in danger.

“A few days ago I overheard my father and an old friend of his discussing an impending business deal. It had to do with selling weapons to terrorists…the same people our soldiers are fighting in Iraq.”

John was stunned. It was the last thing he’d expected to hear. “Are you sure? I mean…is there a possibility you misunderstood?”

Alicia pivoted, her voice rising as she answered. “To my knowledge, there is only one Osama bin Laden, only one group called al Qaeda. Do the words ‘delivery in Afghanistan, money transfers to Geneva,’ suggest anything to you?”

John flinched as if he’d been kicked in the belly, then walked past her in the darkness, bracing his hands against the balcony rail as he stared off into the night. He’d waited an eternity for justice, but did his personal justice supersede the safety of thousands of young servicemen and women?

He turned abruptly, a looming silhouette against the sky.

“His name…What’s your father’s name? How would he have access to those kinds of people?”

“His name is Richard Ponte. He’s the largest arms and munitions manufacturer in the western hemisphere.”

Darkness hid the shock on John’s face. It seemed that the soul of the man who’d killed his people had not learned much during the ensuing centuries. Then another thought surfaced. Alicia Ponte was clearly afraid of her father’s wrath, so…what did she think he would do to her?

“Does he know you overheard that conversation?”

Alicia’s shoulders slumped. “As of this afternoon, yes.”

A chill ran through John’s body that had nothing to do with the temperature outside.

“You fear him because…”

“Because when I figure out who in Washington, D.C., I can trust, I’m going to turn him in.”

John couldn’t believe it. The Old Ones must be cackling among themselves over the twist they’d just delivered. If Richard Ponte was indeed the man he sought, he was going to have to stand in line to get to him.

“What lengths do you think he’ll go to, to stop you?”

Bile rose in the back of Alicia’s throat. This was the question that had been hanging at the back of her mind ever since she’d left Miami. Saying aloud what she feared was only going to give life and power to the fear, but she had no choice. By going with John Nightwalker, she’d put him in the same tenuous position in which she’d put herself.

“Whatever it takes to silence me.”

Even as John asked, he couldn’t wrap his mind around what kind of man could commit such a heinous act. “You think your own father would have you killed?”

“In a heartbeat.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, which Alicia finally broke.

“So…about now I’m guessing you wish you’d left me standing back at Marv’s Gas and Guzzle.”

She didn’t know there were tears on her face, but John saw them. Damn it…he didn’t want to feel sorry for her. Then she took a deep breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

“Well, hell,” he muttered.

Alicia saw a tiny flicker of moonlight catch on the tiny silver feather hanging from his ear as he moved toward her. Before she knew it, she was in his arms, with her nose pressed against his chest.

“What I wish is that you didn’t think your father is capable of killing you. That’s too much for anyone to bear,” he said quietly.

The rumble of his voice lulled her into a false sense of security. He was big and strong, and he’d come to her rescue. Lord knew she needed help. But she couldn’t continue this way without pointing out the obvious. She lingered one last moment longer, then stepped back.

“John…you have to know that by helping me, you’re putting yourself in danger.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

“But—”

John shook his head. He’d made his decision. He would help her get her story to the appropriate people first, then go after his own revenge. It was the right thing to do. The only thing.

“Seriously, I can take care of myself—and you—if you’ll let me.”

“I’ve already involved you too far.”

“Then the discussion is over,” John said. “I’m in. So how are you going to handle this?”

Alicia shrugged. “Carefully, that’s for sure. My father has friends in high places. I’ve got to make sure that I tell someone who won’t give me up to Dad.”

John stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned around, gazing back out across the water. As he wrestled with his conscience, he could hear the waves hitting the rocks that jutted out from the beach into the black, bottomless depths. Decency was winning out over revenge, and it wasn’t making him happy.

“I might know someone,” he finally said.

“In D.C.?” Alicia asked.

He nodded.

“And you trust him?”

John turned. “As much as I trust anyone.”

Alicia frowned. There was a tone in John’s voice that she didn’t recognize. It felt like sarcasm, but that didn’t make sense. Still, she wasn’t in any position to be picky.

“Then I thank you,” she said. “But it needs to be soon. If Dad believes I’ll give him up, he’ll run. He has the whole world in which to hide, and if he does, you know what that makes me? A sitting duck, that’s what.”

“I’ll make some calls tomorrow. But for now, you need to get some sleep.”

Alicia nodded, then lifted her chin. With a quiet grace, she took off the sweater he’d put around her shoulders, handed it to him with a slight nod, then turned around and walked back through his bedroom, then across the hall to her own.

John’s fingers curled into a fist as he clutched the sweater. It was still warm from her body. Muttering a soft, unintelligible curse, he followed her inside, locking the doors behind him. By the time he’d set the security alarms, the light was out in her room. He paused in the hallway by her door, then turned and entered his own suite.

It was time to rest, and to hope that tonight would be a night without dreams. But after the excitement of the day and the fresh hope that his quest would soon be over, it was too much to ask.

She looked up from the cooking fire, smiling at his approach. Her smile widened when she saw the haunch of deer meat he carried on his shoulder.

“I have made your favorite,” White Fawn said.

Night Walker inhaled appreciatively as he laid the deer haunch aside and squatted down beside his woman to peer into the cooking pot. The ground maize had been cooked to a thick porridge consistency, and flavored with strips of pemmican and fresh berries.

Night Walker dipped the stirring stick into the pot, then tasted it.

“More berries,” he said.

White Fawn laughed out loud. “You always say that,” she said as she thrust her hand into a basket beside the fire and scattered another handful of small black berries into the pot.

When Night Walker cupped the back of her head, she leaned into his touch.

“I would lie with you,” he said softly.

An ache spread through White Fawn’s belly as she saw the look in Night Walker’s eyes.

“And I with you,” she answered.

Night Walker set the pot beside the fire and threw a blanket over the meat to keep off the flies, then followed his woman into their hut. He pulled the flap over the doorway, shutting them in and the rest of the village out.

With one pull, the skins he wore tied around his waist fell at his feet.

White Fawn was already naked. Without taking her eyes from his face, she lay down on the furs that were their bed and waited for him to join her.

When he did, he made no pretense as to his intentions.

He lay beside her, then rose up on one elbow and slid his hand between her thighs, gently nudging her legs apart.

White Fawn’s heart was already beating fast, anticipating the pleasure that was to come.

In one swoop, he was inside her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him down, burying him deep. When he began to move, she met him thrust for thrust, and for a while, time stood still.

The scent of woodsmoke mingled with the passion-induced sweat from White Fawn’s body. Her tight, wet heat pulled at Night Walker with every thrust. She was everything beautiful to him, his own personal aphrodisiac. He would never get enough—could never get enough—of the woman who held his heart.

Slowly, slowly, the rhythm of their lovemaking became less steady, more frantic, harder and harder, until it burst within. White Fawn held him as he spilled his seed into her so-far-fruitless womb, then wept quiet, happy tears as he collapsed on top of her with a soft, satisfied moan.

John jerked, then sat up abruptly, searching the shadowed corners of his room for the woman he’d been making love to. His shoulders slumped as he wiped a shaky hand across his face and crawled out of bed.

He didn’t think about his guest as he walked naked through the house, quietly disarmed the security system and strode outside. The cool air felt good against his heated skin as he made his way down the backside of the bluff to the water below.

The steady ebb and flow of the ocean pulled at his senses like a drug as he walked into the surf. The water was cold—so cold—but he didn’t care. He needed the shock of it to wash away the dream—which was, if he’d ever stopped to analyze himself, ironic. While remembering their love and what he’d lost was often too painful, it was the memory of what had happened to her that kept him focused and sane.

When he was knee-deep in the ocean, he dove headfirst into the next wave and began to swim, fighting the current because it was the only enemy at hand. He swam until his muscles burned and his legs felt like jelly. Only then did he stop. Treading water, he turned to look toward shore. From this distance, his house was barely the size of a child’s building block, but the anger was gone. All that was left was a bone-deep weariness.

Without thinking, he began the long journey back, one stroke at a time.

Dawn was imminent on the horizon as he came out of the surf, his head down, his shoulders slumped. His steps dragged as he began the climb up the bluff.

Alicia woke up suddenly, her heart thumping, her eyes wide with fright. For a second she couldn’t remember where she was or how she’d gotten there. Then her gaze centered on a dream catcher hanging on the wall opposite her bed, and a face slid into her mind.

John Nightwalker.

She rubbed her face with her hands, then swung her legs off the bed and stood, stretching slowly as she made her way to the bathroom. A few minutes later, she came out just as the digital readout on the clock flicked over to ten minutes after six. The bed looked inviting, but there were too many unknowns in her life for her to be able to go back to sleep.

She needed to get to the authorities as soon as possible. The quicker she put a stop to her father’s dealings with terrorists, the sooner she would be safe. Once everyone knew, it would serve no purpose to keep her quiet. Nothing else would stop him. She’d grown up seeing his ruthlessness firsthand. Her mother had been the one who’d taught her what it meant to love. Her father’s lessons in life consisted of disappointments and lies. But her mother had been dead for years now, and Alicia was a woman long grown and strong. And she swore that determination—the one trait she’d inherited from her father—was going to prove to be the one that took him down.

Her suitcase was open on the floor. She thought about getting dressed, but it was nearing daybreak, and the idea of watching the sun come up on the horizon to signal the beginning of a new day was too enticing to miss. She noticed that the alarm system had been turned off, so she felt no concern as she hurried downstairs, then out the French doors to the terrace beyond. She walked to the edge, then out onto the grass and headed to the edge of the bluff.

A sea breeze instantly caught the hem of her nightgown and threaded it between her legs as she braced herself against the railing. The view was everything she’d expected and more. Already the line between dark and dawn was fading fast. In the east, there was an aura of pink and orange playing at visibility. Just another minute or two, and the sun in all its glory would be evident.

Alicia found herself watching intently, trying to guess the exact moment of its appearance, and because she was so focused on the sky, she didn’t see the man swimming in the water below. But then the sun broke, and all of a sudden the day was there. She smiled slowly in appreciation and was about to turn back when she saw him, waist deep and emerging from the ocean as steadily as the sun had appeared from below the horizon.

The first thought that crossed her mind was awe. The second was lust.

He’d been a commanding figure in clothes. Naked, he was magnificent. Even from this distance, the copper perfection of his body was impossible to ignore. Muscles everywhere they should be, wet and glistening in the new light of a new day. Then she looked past the obvious to the way his head was hanging, and the slight but weary slump of his body. He walked across the sand as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and something told her that had nothing to do with a strenuous workout.

A lump rose in her throat. Then he paused. When she saw him cover his face with his hands, her vision blurred. She could feel his sadness from here. But why? She thought of the way he’d spoken about his wife, and her heart ached. She’d never known love like that.

It wasn’t until John dropped his hands and looked up the bluff toward his house that Alicia realized he could see her. Now she was stuck. If she moved suddenly, he would think she was ashamed to be caught spying on him. So she did the only other thing she could; she waved and called down, “The sunrise was beautiful!” Then she waved once more and walked back into the house and up to her room.

She swiped angrily at the tears in her eyes as she dug through her suitcase for a clean change of clothes. He could think what he wanted. It was his own fault for walking around naked. Ignoring him would have been a whole lot easier if he had a potbelly and thinning hair.

A few minutes later she was dressed in a pair of blue shorts and a loose white blouse. She walked barefoot down the hall to the kitchen, hoping for a cup of coffee. But she got way more than she hoped for when John came in the back door.

“Good morning,” he said, and strode through the kitchen, leaving sandy footprints on the wood floor.

Alicia nodded, but the answer she might have given was stuck in the back of her throat. He was still unashamedly naked, but that wasn’t what had caused her heart to skip.

It was the scars.

Small ones.

Large ones.

All over his body.

All she could think was, what in God’s sweet name has happened to this man?

Three

Dieter was heartily glad that there were several states between him and Richard Ponte as he listened to his boss berate him up one side and down the other. He shifted the phone from one ear to the other while walking to the impound yard, confident that whatever it was he’d missed hearing wasn’t going to kill him, although Richard might.

“Do you have any idea where she’s gone?” Richard snapped.

Dust puffed up on Dieter’s pant legs as he walked, but he didn’t have the luxury of caring. “Not yet. I just got out of jail, and I’m on my way to get my car out of impound.”

Richard’s voice was quiet, steady—the antithesis of what he was feeling.

“You’d better be in a hurry. You’d better be running, boy,” Richard said. “You’d better finish what I sent you to do or don’t bother coming back, because if you come back without my daughter, I’ll kill you myself.”

Dieter picked up his step, telling himself it was just a figure of speech, that Ponte didn’t really mean it. Then Ponte’s voice got even quieter.

“Do we understand each other?” Richard asked.

Dieter changed his mind. Ponte’s threat was more than serious.

“Yes, sir. I understand. I’ll call you as soon as I have her located again.”

“Make it quick.”

“Yes, sir,” Dieter said, praying for the disconnect. When it clicked in his ear, he breathed a sigh of relief, dropped his phone in his pocket and lengthened his stride.

A short while later he had his car out of impound, heartily thankful that, if this had to happen, it had occurred in such a backwater place as Justice. He’d checked the trunk of his car to find everything he’d had with him was still in place. The black duffel bag was still lying at the back of the trunk, behind a spare tire and tools. He pulled it out, grunting with satisfaction as he checked through the contents, making sure everything was still there.

Two handguns with a fairly large supply of ammunition. A nice set of lockpicks, along with a couple of small hand drills—tools any burglar would want. A first-aid kit with two different vials of drugs meant to render someone unconscious, along with the necessary supply of syringes. Any cop worth his salt would have searched and confiscated all this. He thought of the skinny, smart-ass jailer who’d smirked at him, and snorted. The laugh was on them, and they didn’t even know it.

Satisfied that all was in place once again, he zipped up the bag, shoved it back behind the spare tire and slammed the trunk lid shut. As he got back in the car, he already knew his next destination would be the last place he’d seen Alicia Ponte. At a place called Marv’s Gas and Guzzle.

Daisy Broyles had come to work for Marv Spaulding on her sixteenth birthday and had been here ever since. Job security had been assured after she’d turned nineteen and married Marv. Now they lived in the little brick house behind the store, which suited Daisy just fine. She liked small-town living, and Justice, Georgia, was small-town personified.

This morning was passing much like every morning did. Herbert and Hubert Cooper, two old bachelors who happened to be identical twins, had come in around seven o’clock, downed their usual three cups of coffee and two of Daisy’s fresh-baked cinnamon rolls apiece and then left with a wave and a promise to be back tomorrow.

Marshall Walters’ daughter, Sue, had stopped by for gas to mow their lawn.

Three little boys came in with a dollar apiece and spent fifteen minutes arguing between themselves before settling on pop and candy. And the morning went on, with a steady flow of locals stopping by.

The morning scent of cinnamon rolls was slowly being replaced by the food Daisy was preparing for the lunch rush. She already had a dozen burritos fried up, a pan of crusty chicken strips, a big bowl of potato salad and a bowl of slaw. She was wrapping her chocolate-chip cookies in clear plastic for individual sale when she saw a car pull off the highway and park near the door.

She frowned, recognizing the car. No one had ever pulled a stunt like that here. Passing out drunk at one of her gas pumps was ridiculous. He could have killed someone driving drunk. Yesterday, it was all anybody had wanted to talk about when they’d come in. She was tired of the subject, and tired of the jackass who’d done it. Marv had reminded her last night that they’d been lucky the sorry sucker had stopped before he’d passed out. Like Marv told her, if the drunk had still been driving when he’d conked out, they might have had a mess on their hands. What if he’d hit the pumps? What if he’d run into another customer? Finally Daisy had relented, admitting Marv had a point.

But seeing the man walking toward the door didn’t mean she was ready to sell him some more booze so he could get behind the wheel and drive again. With that thought in mind, she braced herself against the counter, crossed her arms over her ample bosom and set her jaw. Southern women had their ways. If he argued with her, she would show him what a real steel magnolia was all about.

Dieter didn’t know he’d already been made, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Finding Alicia’s car parked right beside his in the impound yard hadn’t made him feel any better about the situation. It was his own fault for giving away the GPS business. He’d just assumed she would have known. Now she was running again, but in what—and with whom? He needed to find out who that big Indian was she’d been with yesterday. He was the only lead he had.

The bell over the door jingled, then played a short burst of “Dixie” as the door swung shut. Surprised by the unexpected tune, he was actually grinning as he spied the clerk. But from the way she was glaring, she didn’t look happy to see him.

He shifted his attitude to all-business as he moved toward the counter.

“Uh…ma’am…I was wondering if you were working here yesterday?”

Daisy glared. “I work here every day. You buying gas?”

Dieter stuttered. “Uh…no, I was wondering if—”

“Cokes are on sale. Ninety-nine cents for a 16 ounce.”

“No thanks, I was just—”

“Goes good with the cinnamon rolls. Dollar apiece, but they’re homemade and worth every penny.”

Dieter was slow, but he finally caught on. Nothing came free, not even information. He grabbed a Coke and pointed toward the bakery case. “I’ll take two,” he said as he dug in his pocket for money to pay.

Daisy sacked up two cinnamon rolls, added a napkin and took his money. Only after she’d realized he wasn’t in the market for booze and had done some fair trading—money for goods received—was she ready to listen.

Dieter stood, waiting for her to nail him again while the condensation on his cold pop ran between his fingers and dripped on the floor. The smell of cinnamon was enticing. He wished he smelled as good, and thought about taking time to find a motel for a shower and shave. But dealing with body odor was going to have to come second to the task at hand.

“Uh…”

Daisy frowned. “Speak your piece, mister. I ain’t got all day.”

Dieter nodded. “Yesterday, I, uh…”

“Oh, I know all about yesterday. You passed out drunk in your car right out there at my pumps. I don’t take kindly to drunk drivers.”

Dieter didn’t intend to go into details. He just needed answers, and the way he figured it, an apology would get him further than an explanation.

“I’m real sorry about all that,” he said. “I hope you weren’t put out in any way.”

Daisy sniffed. “I might have missed a customer or two, seeing as how you were blocking one side of the pumps.”

Dieter nodded. “Yes, well…like I said. I’m sorry.”

Daisy frowned. “So what’s your problem today?”

“Yesterday, before I…uh, I mean…there was a man at the other pump when I arrived. I was wondering if you noticed who it was…or if you knew him?”

“I didn’t even see you until they came to haul you and your car away. Unless they come in, I don’t pay them much mind. Lots of people come and go here, and most pay at the pump with credit cards these days. Pumps won’t work unless they come in and pay me first, or use a credit card,” Daisy stated. “What did he look like?”

“He was a little above average height. Native American, with short dark hair and a silver earring in on ear.”

“Oh. That sounds like Big John,” Daisy said.

Dieter’s pulse kicked. She knew him. Maybe things were going to work out after all.