Chapter Twenty

“She’s what?” Chance couldn’t believe his ears. Suede had taken a turn for the worse? How’d that happen?

“You heard me, brother. The antibiotic isn’t working. She’s delirious and she keeps asking for you,” Pagan insisted. “Kruze just left to get a doctor. You’d better get back here. I’m worried.”

There was a catch to Pagan’s tone that Chance couldn’t decipher, but the thought of Suede failing after all he’d gone through to ensure she lived, sent a stabbing pain to his gut. Losing a bright and shining star like her was akin to being thrown overboard and keelhauled. He wouldn’t survive in a world without her in it. Not that he expected to marry the woman. That was most definitely not what this was about, but knowing that she was alive and happy somewhere out there…

It didn’t have to be with him…

“But the mission always comes first…” Chance let his words trail away. That was what he’d thought the last time he’d lost someone important in his life, while he was on an important mission. If he’d been in San Diego where he should’ve been, if he’d been with his mom, he wouldn’t have lost his team.

What would it hurt? He’d been waiting a day now for her highness Mother Nature to finish the high-handed blizzard that wouldn’t seem to end. So far, that had left him cold to his bones and biding his time until who knew how much longer? The soft peppermint candies he’d brought with him were nearly gone. There might be enough time to rappel down Old Man Mountain one last time. Just to see Suede. Just to make sure.

It wasn’t that far of a drop. Think about it. You’ll be back in an hour or two. Three tops. What could happen in that amount of time? York wasn’t going anywhere, and if Suede was that bad...? Chance raked a hand over his balaclava and beanie covered head. If she’s that bad, I’ll fix it. I will. Then I’ll be back on duty. I will.

“Be right there,” he told his brother, but why wasn’t Pagan still hanging on the line? That he’d hung up without an answer spiked a burst of adrenaline like Chance had never known before. He jumped to his feet. His hyper vigilance red zoned. Suede must’ve taken a turn for the worse. She could be dying, and Pagan was too busy caring for her to waste time convincing his hardheaded older brother to man up. Well, I’m manning up now.

It took Chance seconds to pack his rifle and gear. Before he knew it, he was out of that rustic cabin and running into the wind. The pistol in his hand was the only reminder that York was still a man to be taken seriously, just not enough of a deterrent to prevent Chance from getting to Suede. If York got in the way, he was dead.

At the edge of the cliff, Chance set his bag down and strapped in to his rappel gear for the trip down. With his rappel device secured to his belay loop, he jerked enough rope for the slack needed. By then he was anchored and ready to drop his line over the edge at what might have been the exact spot where York had shoved Suede to her death. The flaming bastard.

Chance glanced back at the direction of York’s rig, seeing red. For two cents I’d…

Was leaving this murderer to live another day the right decision? For the first time he questioned his rationale. Another man might have offed York without a second thought, but damn it. As much as Chance wanted revenge, he wanted the best for Suede more. She needed a second chance at a decent life.

Bottom line: there wasn’t time for York’s come-to-Jesus meeting. Not right now.

Chance double-checked his weight against the rappel anchor and the setup, fighting for composure. This wasn’t the time to make an amateur mistake and fall, not with Suede’s future in the balance. Not with her murderer a mere yards away. If York were out and about, Chance doubted he’d have a clue what the snow-camouflaged shadow was standing at the drop point anyway, but a smart man didn’t take unnecessary risks.

Jerking the ropes one last time, Chance made certain they were threaded through the device correctly. He set his auto-block, his backup in case the unexpected happened and somehow, he was knocked unconscious. With this wind, anything could happen once he stepped over the edge. A man in a hurry made mistakes. Chance Sinclair didn’t want to be that man.

Bouncing on pure adrenaline now, he secured his gear bags over one shoulder with a bungee cord, turned his back on the blizzard whipping at his six, and over he went. Kicking away from the sheer granite face to give himself more room, he jackrabbited his descent, his boots hitting the granite wall in steady jumps instead of one long fall.

The hardest lesson he’d brought home from all of his deployments was that there were no second chances. The guys you roomed with, fought side by side with, and were prepared to die for, too many times didn’t come home at the end of a long, hard day. And no, by God, seeing them for the last time when they were laid out in flag-covered coffins aboard a C-130 loading platform didn’t count. It worked the same for those you left behind. That one last goodbye at the guard shack at whichever naval base you deployed from had better be good because it might be your last. And if you were dumb enough to procrastinate telling the ones closest to you that you loved them? He swallowed hard. Then you were a fool.

Shit, the wind was bitter and brisk, nipping at his exposed skin, which wasn’t much due to his balaclava. Distances were difficult to determine when your whole world was moving, blustering snow, so Chance took his time. He let his harness hold his weight. At the next anchor, he repeated the process and wondered yet again how Suede had survived such a fall.

Because of the odds against her, it was easy to jump to the conclusion that she was a spy, but Chance knew better. He still hadn’t a clue why York had chosen this specific location, but he knew Suede’s heart. She wasn’t who the press or York had portrayed her to be.

The only thing that made a lick of sense involved the capriciously wild storm that seemed to have set up camp over Northern Montana. It was just possible that Mother Nature’s relentless assault that night was what slowed Suede’s fall. Maybe an updraft. Maybe it was just that Suede weighed no more than a downy fluff in comparison to Mother Nature’s massive power. Maybe she’d been tossed around on her way down instead of falling like a stone.

It sounded like one too many maybes. Chance had no idea what really happened, but the notion of Suede’s billion-to-one survival played at the edge of his keen mind. He didn’t believe in coincidences, and his mom had always said everything happened for a reason, even the bad things. Suede was like the dog Scarlett had left her oldest son, an unexpected gift Chance had no idea how much he’d want at the end of the day.

Christ, if the antibiotics hadn’t worked, what choice did Pagan have but to send Kruze for a doctor? What are you trying to tell me, Mom? That you’re watching over me? That you always know better? Well, knock it off already.

At last! His boots touched down. Home was less than a mile away, an easy hump on a good day. He made it in ten minutes despite the accumulated snow, his only goal to reach Suede before she coughed her last breath.

Damn it, Pagan. All you had to do was keep her safe and get her well. What was so hard about that? The answer, of course, was York. He’d meant Suede to die, and she was, damn him to hell.

Shoving his heavy wooden front door open, Chance inhaled the heated indoor air and shook the snow off his shoulders and head. The cabin was dark and no fire burned in the central fireplace. Gallo didn’t come running to meet him. Where is everyone? Shit. Am I too late?

He slammed the door and ran for his room, shedding his gear as he went. The eerie silence of his mansion in the mountains whispered, ‘You’re always too late. She’s gone and you’ve lost her, too.’

Like hell, Chance thought as he laid an open palm to his door, but bowed his head instead of shoving it open. “I need this one in my life,” he murmured to himself. Really. He wasn’t praying to God or, or anyone—up there. He didn’t believe in that stuff, not after the last six months. Those words were for him and him alone. No one else. Certainly not a higher power that might actually be real and waiting on him to call out for an assist, like a kid to a father.

Regardless of what Chance thought he believed in, the relentless plea spilled out of him and flew heavenward. “This one’s different. Please. Let her live.”

Enough! Silently, Chance propelled himself into the darkness. He could’ve sworn he heard a shuffle and the hiss of a door closing behind him, but there she was, as still as a corpse, her head on his pillow and her body motionless. That Gallo had chosen to sleep on the floor at the end of the bed confirmed Chance’s worst fears. Even the dog knew...

Chance choked as he fell to his knees at Suede’s side, his head bowed and his worst nightmare come true. “Mom, no. Not fair.”

Gentle fingers threaded into his hair caressing his scalp. “Chance?”

His head jerked up. “You’re not dead?”

Suede coughed that awful, barky cough, but shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

He hadn’t a clue how he got up off his knees, but the next thing he knew he was on the bed and holding her frail body in his arms, her poor backside on his lap as he shook with relief. He buried his face in her hair. She’d washed it, and by God, his cock stood up and took notice, but for the first time in years, it wasn’t enough. He let his tears loose. This sweet, gentle person was alive. There’d be no coffin or funeral this time. No last regrets either. I’m not too late.

The sweetest fingers traced his cheekbones, wiping at the emotion running like a river into his beard. “What’s wrong? Did York hurt you? Are you okay?”

Ah, where to start? “Nothing,” was all he could choke out, his heart and soul on fire for the lady in his arms. “Pagan said you were ill, and I thought…” He swallowed hard and tried again, “I thought…” That I’d lost you like I’d lost my mother. That I’d arrived too late to tell you goodbye, or that I care, or that maybe… God! So many maybes!

“I have had a bad day,” Suede admitted hoarsely, smoothing her fingers over his beard, tugging at it in her gentle way and ending with her palm over his thrumming breastbone.

So have I, but I’m okay now. Chance pressed her head under his chin and lowered his nose to the sweet perfume in her hair, needing to catch his balance before he fell apart. He hadn’t been this emotional in months, six to be exact. It had never been made clearer. He needed a woman in his life. Not just any woman, but this one. Only this one.

He planted a kiss in the deepest, sweetest smelling tangles against her warm scalp, breathing her back into his soul where he wanted her to stay.

“But I feel better now,” she whispered, her fingers stealing up his bicep to his shoulder, and from there, to the curve of his stiff neck.

“Me too,” he said, meaning it from the darkest corner of his tattered soul. His lungs expanded with a welcome rush of relief. The wicked buzz of regret in his head cleared. For the first time in months, Chance Sinclair felt better.