Bravery’s Sin: Masters’ Admiralty, book 5, page 24
“We pulled up flight information, plugging in all the airports within three hundred kilometers of Lake Balaton. We got a hit, though I’m not sure it’s an accurate one. It looks like Petro got on a flight bound for the United States yesterday afternoon, but we can’t track him because he doesn’t appear to have actually entered the country.”
“Getting information from the States is tricky,” Grigoris said.
“On our own, it is,” Eric agreed.
“You have some other way?” Milo asked.
Eric sighed, grimacing. “Unfortunately, I do. We have to call the fucking Americans again,” he said as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his list of contacts. Then he handed the phone to Milo. “That number. Conference call.”
Milo dutifully plugged in the number as Grigoris and Eric stood next to the desk.
The Grand Master answered on the third ring. “Juliette Adams.”
“Grand Master,” Eric drawled.
“Shit.”
Grigoris heard the phone knocking around a bit, then Juliette’s voice sounded farther away. She’d put them on speaker.
“Now what?” she asked after a few moments.
“I need information,” Eric said. “A favor.”
“Another favor,” Juliette reminded him. “You already owe me. Are you sure you want to be deeper in debt?”
“My offer of sex as reparation is still on the table.”
“Well…” Juliette replied, sounding for a moment like she might consider that deal.
“No,” a male voice cut through the line. At the same time another man with a slight Hispanic accent said, “I’m not up for it physically, but I’d love to watch.”
Eric chuckled. “Ah, the husbands, Devon and Franco. Anyone else there? What about your bulldog, Seb?”
Grigoris could envision the scowls on the Americans’ faces when the bulldog corrected him. “I prefer Sebastian.”
“No, you don’t,” Eric egged him on. “How are you feeling, Franco?”
“Better every day,” the Hispanic man replied pleasantly.
“In the interest of expediency and getting this conversation over, what do you need, Eric?” Devon asked.
“Fugitive tracking. Two names.” Eric spelled Petro and Hanna’s names. “They boarded a flight to Chicago yesterday, but their passports weren’t scanned in at arrival.”
“What did they do?” Franco sounded merely curious.
“How the hell are you accessing U.S. immigration control data?” Devon growled.
“Given the fact you’re calling for our help, we can assume this man is dangerous? Do we need to intervene?” Sebastian asked.
The pleasantry in Eric’s voice faded, warning dripping from each of the next words he spoke. “I’m going to deal with Petro Sirko myself. All I need to know is where he is.”
“If he’s on American soil, you’ll be dealing with more than just him. You’ll be dealing with us,” Devon reminded him.
“None of your members need to be involved. We can handle this ourselves.”
Grigoris was surprised by Eric’s relatively normal tone. There was nothing in his voice, in his comments, to reveal the bloodlust Grigoris could see in his eyes right now.
“I believe you said that last time,” Juliette said shortly. “And my husband was nearly killed.”
“In all fairness, the American shooter,” Eric drew out Alicia’s nationality, “was aiming for two of my people.”
Juliette’s tone was cool. “Who weren’t supposed to be where they were.”
Apparently Eric wasn’t interested in rehashing ancient history, though Grigoris figured two months ago hardly classified as ancient. Hugo and Lancelot had traveled to America to capture the American sniper’s wife, Alicia, whom they’d discovered was another of the mastermind’s acolytes. At the time, she’d been their best hope of discovering the mastermind’s identity. The information she’d given them helped lead them to where they were now. Petro had been smart to escape to America, relying on the contentious relationship between the two societies to offer an extra level of protection.
“Can you get the information or not?” Eric asked.
“Of course I can.” She blew out a long breath, as if debating whether or not she wanted to. Then, mercifully, she asked, “Is this the number where you can be reached?”
“It is.”
“I’m assuming you need this immediately.”
“I do.”
“This information isn’t free.”
“I’ll owe you a favor.”
“You will, but you will also give me details as to who these people are, and why they’re running from you.”
“You don’t need to know that.”
“You presume to know what I do and don’t need?” Juliette’s question was silky.
The fleet admiral stared at the phone, his face stark. “He likes to blow up stuff and recently killed someone very important to me.”
The dark silence that followed that statement had an almost physical weight.
“I’ll be in touch,” Juliette said softly.
The call disconnected.
For several hours, Grigoris and Milo went through every flight record, attempting to find anything they might have overlooked, as Eric spoke with Antonio and Arthur about everything they’d discovered since leaving the bunker in Italy. Nyx had alternated between dozing on the couch and entertaining herself by singing bawdy pub songs Grigoris could only assume she’d learned while attending Oxford.
It was nearly midnight, and they still hadn’t received a call from Juliette.
Milo was the first to cry uncle. “We can’t work through the night. We’re going to have to be ready to move when the Grand Master calls with the flight information. Once that happens, we will move fast. You need to get some rest now, Fleet Admiral. We’ll take shifts.”
Grigoris hated to stop, but he couldn’t deny the security officer was right. He’d run enough investigations in the past that he knew a lack of sleep dulled the senses. They were up against a deadly, dangerous foe. And they all needed to be one-hundred percent ready if they hoped to defeat him.
Grigoris stood up and stretched. “I need to move Nyx to the bedroom.” He left the office, walking to the couch to rouse Nyx.
When she opened her eyes, he noticed they were more focused and, sadly, the adorable grin she’d worn all day was gone again, replaced by the same pensiveness and concern he’d grown accustomed to.
She blinked a few times, glancing around the room. “The tracker?”
“Gone.”
She lifted her hand to her jaw, feeling the place where the implant had been removed. Because of Nyx’s desire to have the tracker removed immediately, there hadn’t been time to replace it. That was something she would need to deal with after…
God, just after.
They’d been chasing the mastermind for so long, Grigoris had stopped considering what happened after this nightmare was over. At least in terms of mundane things like dentist appointments and getting his car detailed. Everyday things had fallen away in the face of so much death and suffering.
However, there was one thing he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about ever since they’d put a name to the mastermind, ever since Grigoris realized Nyx was going to be free from her sham of a marriage.
Nyx slowly pushed herself up.
“Are you in pain? I can get you another one of the painkillers the dentist prescribed.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m fine. I don’t like the way those things make me feel.”
Grigoris grinned. “Does this mean you don’t really find my ears sexy?”
Nyx frowned, confused, though he thought perhaps bits and pieces of her day were starting to come back to her.
Eric stepped into the living room.
“There’s our Nyx,” Eric said, his tired smile revealing he’d witnessed her silliness.
Nyx grimaced but didn’t mention her embarrassing afternoon. “What did I miss?”
“I’ll let Grigoris catch you up. A bedtime story. Milo offered to take the first shift watching the security cameras. I’m relieving him in two hours. You’re relieving me two hours after that,” he said to Grigoris. “If we don’t have a call from Juliette by morning, we’re going to have to come up with a plan B.” Eric bent down and scooped up Fengári. “Come on, sweetheart. You’re sleeping with me.”
Grigoris and Nyx were quiet until Eric slipped into the guest room and shut the door.
“I think I lost my cat.”
Nyx gave him a tired smile. “I’ll steal her back for you, motănel. Come. You need your rest.”
They walked to Grigoris’ bedroom together. How many times had Grigoris imagined Nyx in his bed? He’d spent countless sleepless nights with her just across the hall, longing for her until he thought he’d go mad with desire.
Now, she was here, and though he knew it wasn’t wise, Grigoris couldn’t stop the tiny kernel of hope taking root inside that told him Nyx was free.
Once they’d captured and killed Petro, Grigoris would ask Eric to place him in a trinity with Nyx.
“Juliette?” Nyx said, obviously recalling the fleet admiral’s last comment. “The Grand Master of the Trinity Masters?”
Grigoris quickly filled her in on everything they’d discovered while she was sleeping off the anesthesia and enjoying her painkillers, then he recapped the phone call with the Americans.
Nyx looked at Grigoris’ bed, then back at him with a shy, sexy look.
Grigoris stepped closer, unbuttoning her blouse, unhooking her bra, then drawing her pants and panties off. Once she was naked, she took over, stripping him out of his clothing as he stood still, relishing every stroke of her fingertips, every soft kiss from her lips to the various parts of his body she bared.
Together, they crawled into his bed. Nyx shifted to her back, her legs parting as Grigoris knelt between them. He ran one finger over her clit. She was already wet, ready for him.
He guided his cock to her entrance and slid inside with one steady, smooth motion.
Being inside her felt as natural as breathing.
Grigoris kissed her gently as he thrust in and out, neither of them in a hurry. Rather than a rough, frantic, passionate lovemaking, they simply melted together, two bodies, two hearts.
It felt like one of the most powerful moments of his life.
“Se agapó,” he whispered. They’d spoken the words before, but that didn’t weaken their impact. If anything, the emotion grew stronger each time he told her how he felt.
“Grigoris.” She kissed his shoulder, his neck.
He stroked her breasts, pushing deeper with each return to her body. He allowed himself to dream of the day when the two of them would make a baby together. He wanted a little girl with Nyx’s white-blond hair and translucent blue eyes.
“Come with me,” he murmured, when he reached the precipice. He could tell from Nyx’s accelerated breathing, her soft mewls, that she was close too.
He reached between them and pressed on her clit, rubbing it the way he knew she loved, her hips rising and falling more rapidly as she tried to draw in even more of him.
“Nyx,” he said, when he felt her orgasm begin, her inner muscles clenching tightly on his cock. “God.”
Her back arched as she cried out, dragging him over the edge with her. Grigoris worried briefly about how much Eric could hear from his room across the hall. He cast the thought away. The fleet admiral had stolen his cat after all.
He held himself over her as their climaxes faded away and he withdrew. He kissed her once more, then his lips slid along her neck.
It was late and they needed sleep. Grigoris could tell himself those things over and over, but they didn’t serve to make him tired. When he was with her, he felt as if he could run a hundred marathons in a row.
Nyx kissed his cheek, and then she nipped his earlobe.
He pulled back for a moment, uncertain if her action had been deliberate.
When her soft laugh escaped, he chuckled.
“Now if only I could find that big blond Viking,” she teased.
He gave her a stern look. “Biting my very sexy ear is one thing, but you are not climbing Eric’s tree.”
Nyx’s amusement erupted into a full-fledged laughter that he shared.
“Jealous man,” she mused as their laughter subsided.
“With you. Always.”
He meant his words as a compliment, but something flashed in Nyx’s eyes and a shadow fell over them. Only for a moment before she twisted to her side to fully face him, her hand resting on his hip.
He wanted to ask her what he’d said, but she yawned and blinked tiredly. Though she’d dozed all day, there were dark circles under her eyes that he hated seeing there.
They still had a thousand miles to walk, a million bridges to cross. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but right now, the only thing that mattered was sleep.
He kissed her good night, closed his eyes, and played out all his hopes for the future in his dreams.
Chapter Twenty-One
Nyx was sitting in the office, ice pack held to her jaw to help reduce the swelling from having the tracker removed. The spot where there had once been a tooth felt like a gaping hole, though intellectually she knew it wasn’t. After some contortion in the mirror this morning, she’d been able to catch a glimpse of the blank space in her mouth and a single stitch in her gum.
There was something morbidly amusing about the fact that the tracker had been on the left side of her mouth, meaning that she now had a scar on the right side of her face, and the left side had been, pre-ice, swollen to the point that she looked like an animal storing nuts in its cheek pocket.
Since her face hurt too much for her to focus on anything—and she’d be even less focused if she took the prescription the oral surgeon had given her—she was playing receptionist, stationed by the phone in case it rang.
Last night had felt like an escape, a brief moment spent in paradise, considering the chaos raining down on their heads every other minute of the day. With Grigoris, she was able to forget…everything. Then the bright, harsh light of day would crash in again. It took everything she had to get out of bed this morning, which would have made sense if Grigoris had still been there, but the tireless man had only managed a few hours’ sleep before rising to keep watch over the house.
The phone rang.
“Parakaló,” Nyx said, using a formal Greek phone greeting.
“I’d like to speak to Eric.” The clipped woman’s voice spoke English with an American accent.
“Hello, Ms. Adams. A moment, and he’ll be here.” Nyx put the call on speaker and rushed out of the office. Eric was standing on the terrace stroking Fengári.
“Fleet Admiral,” she called out.
Even as Eric turned, Grigoris appeared at her side. He was careful not to approach her from the back, and as his arm slid around her waist, she relaxed into him.
Milo had appeared in the office, seemingly out of thin air. His hair was slicked back from his head, showing off a widow’s peak that made him seem a little wicked.
No one spoke until Eric entered the room. His face was calm, almost placid, his hand gentle on the cat’s back, but his eyes… There was rage in his gaze, a rage so vast and deep that it reminded her of the perhaps overused Nietzsche quote, “Und wenn du lange in einen Abgrund blickst, blickt der Abgrund auch in dich hinein.”
And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.
Eric paused, then seemed to gather himself. A good-natured smirk transformed his face, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes.
“Grand Master. How are you and your posse?”
“Posse?” Devon asked in an irritated voice. “We are her advisors.”
“Franco’s the brains, Seb is the dumb muscle, and you’re the irritated logistics guy,” Eric said.
“Thank you,” Franco sounded pleased.
“What the fuck?” Sebastian yelped.
There was a noisy sigh from who Nyx assumed was Devon.
Juliette, however, laughed. “Fleet Admiral, your manners are, as always, lacking.”
Eric, apparently, had exhausted whatever patience, or perhaps “facade or normalcy” was a more appropriate term, he’d been able to summon. “Where’s Petro?”
“I need to clarify a few things before I give you any information.”
Eric’s hand stilled on the cat, and he must have started to squeeze her because Fengári bit his finger. Eric jerked, looked down at the cat, and his expression softened. “What do you want to clarify?” He resumed petting the cat, who looked haughtily pleased for having put the big man in his place.
“If you commit murder on U.S. soil and are caught, we will not come to your aid.”
“Because murder is wrong,” Franco said.
Milo’s brows rose and Eric looked at the ceiling.
“Um, yes, of course. Because murder is wrong.” Juliette cleared her throat. “But more importantly because you have yet to pay us back for the first favor. I’m not sure it would be worth it to me to continue to help you without recompense.” Juliette paused. “To put it simply, you’re writing checks I’m not sure you can cash.”
“Do not underestimate me, Grand Master.”
“Don’t forget that I am your equal, Fleet Admiral.”
There was a pregnant silence. Even the cat looked at Eric warily.
“Of course, Grand Master. I’m…”
“Sorry,” Nyx mouthed.
“Sorry,” Eric said through gritted teeth.
Juliette hummed. “We tracked people matching Petro and Hanna’s descriptions getting off the plane in Chicago, though they used other names.”
“We’re checking to see why they were able to get through, despite the fact that the names they used at passport control were not listed on any flight manifest,” Devon said.
“What names did they use?” Milo asked.
“It doesn’t matter because they left Chicago and flew to Honolulu, using another set of aliases. From there, they traveled by boat to Kauai, before finally flying to Guam. As of right now, we think they’re on Guam,” Sebastian said.
