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shadow on the empty space of the bed.
Ian stared, remembering the view when he had lain in this very place, propped up this same way,
looking down at Kazuhi's still form. His imagination could almost cast the picture before his eyes, the
calm countenance and small smiles. Perhaps, a view of that small and firm form curled in sleep, never
mind he'd never seen Kazu asleep.
But he wanted to.
And he also wanted to forget knowing all the things that he did; the truths that turned all the beautiful
memories into lies.
With a groan of frustration, he flopped backward onto his back, an arm falling above his head on the
pillow as he glowered at the ceiling. He wanted to see Kazuhi sleep. Ian wanted to see Kazu as
vulnerable as he'd been that night in the basement of the hangar, expression amazed and drowned in
pleasure, eyes wide and glazed, lips parted in a silent scream. Or the way Kazuhi had bitten down on his
own hand, muffling the most astonishing sounds Ian had ever heard, back arching upwards, hips
shifting.
Ian gave another groan, irritated when he felt that familiar heaviness in his loins. Mere thoughts of him
always made him like this, made him want unreasonably, made him ache and desire and shake with
longing.
And no matter how he clenched and unclenched his hands with the frustration, no matter how he woke
sweating and aroused from dreams of lovemaking and whispered confessions... he never wanted to be
released. He wanted those memories of Kazuhi to haunt him for the rest of his life.
After everything, they were all he had left.
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Chapter Ten: Crossroads
Six weeks and one day.
It had been six weeks and one day since he and the Frost siblings had been rescued, and Ghost sighed
with supreme frustration.
It was the middle of the night but sleep eluded him again and he sat up, wearily scrubbing a hand over
his forehead before getting out of bed. Padding over to the window, he took a seat in the leather arm
chair there, the newest addition to his room.
He'd found it in France, at one of the quaint set-ups of antique goods on race track grounds. There had
been carnivals and concerts, but the noise had driven him away and he had drifted to where the quiet
remained, sifting through these things that had out-lasted their original owners. Objects of endurance
had always held a strange fascination for him.
There had been a motor-car race which two of the therapy assistants were discussing one afternoon.
They'd stopped as soon as they noticed the impassive attention they'd suddenly garnered, but opened
up enough to answer a few questions.
Ghost had it they were planning to drive over the Channel Tunnel and all the way out to the French
province of La Sarthe, all to attend a twenty-four hour race at the race-track Le Mans. They'd been
tossing the idea back and forth, uncertain as to whether they should proceed or not as they were
concerned about safety. And they needed a third pair of hands to drive parts of the way.
He'd wanted to go. It was an opportunity, both to travel for pleasure as he'd always wanted and to see
this country better which Ian spoke so well of. And he wore the necklace of the amazing Frenchwoman
who had helped shape Ian into the man he'd become. Somehow, he felt he needed to do this.
Sensing the two would be frightened of him trying to put on a friendly face to them, Ghost remained
expressionless as he usually did, but nicely and politely asked if he could join them. The two had
exchanged looks before turning back to him to stare. He had been about to retract the question,
nervous because they might not known how refuse an operative but Daniel and Paul's faces had split
into wide grins.
The trip had been fun, actually. He'd driven the entire way there, citing superior endurance, and instead
of being annoyed with him the two had laughed, appreciating his little show-off for the joke it was.
They'd ribbed, played pranks on and kidded each other the entire time and actually become friends
along the way.
Smiling to himself now at the memories, Ghost stroked the leather, fingertips reaching under one of the
armrests to where Paul had accidentally burned a small hole with a cigarette in helping to lift the
heavier-than-it-looked armchair.
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Andra Sashner Dragonfly
Friends.
"I hope you will count me as one of them,"
The memory of Ian's sleepy voice when he'd spoken the words, echoed in Ghost's mind. Tracing idle
patterns on the antique brown leather, he sat back and looked unseeing out the window. The idea that
he could actually have friends outside of his team-mates seemed strange and yet... Paul and Daniel had
been more than accepting of him.
"You okay, man?" Daniel asked quietly, coming up into the van front and taking the passenger seat.
"Yeah," Ghost replied, not taking his eye off the road, "I like to keep going until I'm tired."
"You haven't had a break in sixteen hours," Daniel persisted. "You've driven all the way since we left
London. I'm not saying I don't appreciate it but even you need some rest."
"I'm not sleepy," Ghost replied gently, "I'll rest when we get there, okay? I tend to stay awake two
days at a time anyway."
"That's a horrible habit," Dan grimaced. A few awkward and fidgeting moments later he hesitantly
asked, "Hey, how's your depth perception anyway? Sorry for asking, just wondering, you know? I don't
mean anything by "
"It's fine," Ghost assured him, "The mites more than make up for the missing eye."
"Good," Dan breathed, more relieved Ghost hadn't lost his temper than anything else. "Hey, promise
me you'll sleep, and I mean properly sleep, when we get to the camp."
"I promise."
Daniel and Paul had stood guard for him, chatting quietly in the front of the caravan and playing on the
Play Station while he'd slept in the back bunk. It wasn't deep sleep like he'd promised Daniel, not at first.
He was surprised when he woke, eyes prickling, chest aching to find Paul sitting at his bedside looking
worried.
Daniel arrived soon with a bottle of water, handing it over and, exchanging a look with Paul, left them
alone, shutting the door as he left.
"You were talking in your sleep," Paul murmured, "Apologising to people." At Ghost's silence, he
continued, "You told someone, I think it was 'Eileen', not to listen or look." Ghost stilled but Paul
reached to grasp his arm reassuringly as he said, "And you told 'Ian' that you didn't mean to, whatever it
was, saying you didn't have a choice."
Ghost looked away, and firmly turned over on the bed, giving Paul his back. But Paul put a hand on his
shoulder and squeezed gently, saying,
"You said a couple of other things. And I think if they're that important, you should tell this guy."
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Andra Sashner Dragonfly
It wasn't until he sensed Paul move away and out the door that he spoke, and Paul paused to listen,
"Thanks."
When the sun was higher in the sky, Ghost stood and dressed, and headed for the RIG main-building
gym. As usual, Daniel and Paul stumbled in clutching coffee and cookies, thirty minutes after he had
started warming up.
"Hey operative hotshot," Daniel greeted, tossing a cookie at him.
Playfully, Ghost caught it in his mouth, ducking down on one knee, a hand down for balance to do it.
"Poke fun at me when you can do that," he replied loftily, chewing. Inevitably, the supposed work-out
session degenerated into a food fight...
"That was breakfast!" Paul protested with cookie crumbs in his hair, the bits of food scattered about
them as they mock-glowered at one another.
"Shut up," Ghost and Daniel replied at the same time. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]