What the Bride Didn't Know. Kelly Hunter

if he’d known all along that her insecurities were there but he couldn’t quite figure out why she was voicing them now. Lena didn’t know why she was voicing them now either. It was just a maths question.

      ‘Never mind,’ she said awkwardly.

      ‘You won’t fall behind.’ Jared had finally found his voice. ‘I won’t let you.’

      He just didn’t get it. ‘But what if that’s where I’m meant to be? Water finding its own level, and all that?’

      ‘No,’ said Jared grimly. ‘The hell with that. That’s just defeatist.’

      ‘No one’s leaving anyone behind,’ said Adrian soothingly. ‘No one here’s defeated. Jared’s never going to disown you, Lena. He’s insanely protective of you. Did you not just see him go caveman on my arse for daring to look at you sideways?’

      ‘Sure I did,’ said Lena. ‘But he’s protecting you, not me.’

      ‘Maybe I’m protecting you both,’ said Jared. ‘Anyone ever think of that?’

      ‘Overachiever,’ murmured Lena and Adrian nodded his agreement, and it made Lena laugh and broke the tension and she was all for it staying broken.

      ‘How about I start this conversation again?’ she offered.

      ‘Can you do it without the emo infusion?’ asked Jared.

      ‘You want the bare basics?’ She could do that. She pointed the pen at her chest. ‘Imbecile in need of a little help with her maths homework, before she can go surfing. I’m stuck on question six.’

      Which was how Lena scored two maths tutors for the rest of the year and how Adrian Sinclair earned the nickname Trig.

      Nothing to do with being trigger happy at all.

      Even if he was.

      ONE

      It wasn’t easy being green. Green being the colour of envy. Envy being the emotion Lena owned when she saw others walking around effortlessly and without pain. She tried to keep her resentments in check, but envy had powerful friends like self-pity and unfocused anger and when they came to play, Lena’s bright-side surrendered with barely a murmur. Being gut shot nineteen months ago had brought out the worst in her rather than the best.

      Focus on the positives, the overworked physio had told her briskly at the start of her rehabilitation.

      You’re alive.

      You can walk.

      The physio had tapped the side of Lena’s skull next. You’re really strong. Up here.

      Lena had taken that last comment as a compliment. Right up until the physio had started telling her to back off on the exercises and let her body heal. Lena had ignored her, at which point the physio had started comparing Lena to someone’s pet ox.

      As in overly stubborn and none too bright.

      It didn’t help that the other woman might possibly have been right.

      Still, stubbornness had got her to the airport this morning, and through the airport, and if she sank down into the row of seats next to the boarding gate with a muffled curse and a certain amount of relief, so what?

      She’d made it.

      Another half an hour and she’d be on a plane bound for Istanbul and when she got there she was going to find Jared, her wayward brother, and haul him home in time for Christmas. She could do this. Was doing this.

      Didn’t matter that she was doing it one step at a time.

      Lena closed her eyes and rubbed at her face, putting the heels of her hands to her eye sockets and rolling them in slow circles, and it was hell on mascara but she didn’t wear any anyway—her lashes were black enough and thick enough to go without. Her hair was thick and black too, and straight these days, on account of a good cut and a run-in with a hair straightener this morning. The wave would come back next time she washed it, but for now she looked reasonably put together. Less like an invalid and more like a woman on a mission.

      Someone took a seat beside her and Lena lowered her hands, cracked a glance and groaned at the sight of her nemesis, Adrian Sinclair, glaring back at her.

      Trig was big. As in six feet five and perfectly proportioned. He’d grown into his hands. Grown into the coat-hanger shoulders he’d had at sixteen. Good for him.

      Lena had stopped growing at a respectable five-eight. Nothing wrong with medium height. Nothing wrong with medium anything.

      ‘Go away,’ she said by way of greeting.

      ‘No,’ he said by way of hello. ‘I heard you failed your physical.’

      Way to rub it in. ‘I’ll take it again. I’ve put in for special consideration.’

      ‘You won’t get it.’

      ‘You’re blocking it?’

      ‘You overestimate my influence,’ rumbled Trig. ‘Lena—’

      ‘No,’ she said, cutting him off fast. ‘Whatever you’re going to say about my current state of well-being, don’t. I don’t want to hear it.’

      ‘I know you don’t, but I am done talking around it.’ Trig’s jaw tightened. He had a nice jaw. Strong. Square. It provided a much-needed counterpoint to his meltingly pretty brown eyes. ‘When are you going to get it through your thick head that you are never going to get your old job back?’

      Lena said nothing. Not what she wanted to hear.

      ‘Doesn’t mean you can’t be equally effective elsewhere,’ continued Trig doggedly.

      ‘Behind a desk?’

      ‘Operations control. Halls of power. Could be fun.’

      ‘If it’s that much fun, why don’t you do it?’

      ‘What do you think I’ve been doing these past nineteen months? Besides dropping everything on a regular basis to come babysit you? Why do you think I took myself off rotation in the first place?’

      Lena had the grace to flush. Like her and Jared, Trig had been part of an elite intelligence reconnaissance team once, and, just like her, Trig had loved his job. The extreme physicality of it. The danger and the excitement. The close calls and the adrenaline. Trig had to be missing all that. ‘Why did you take yourself off rotation? They’d have assigned you to another team. No one asked you to sit at a desk. And I don’t need a babysitter.’

      ‘Yeah, I wish you’d prove it.’ Trig eased his legs out in front of him and tried to make himself comfortable in the too-small airport seat. Big man, with a body honed for combat. The pretty face and the easy smile...those were just for disarmament purposes.

      ‘Adrian, what are you doing here?’ Adrian was his real name. Lena only ever used it when talk turned serious. ‘How’d you even know I was here?’

      ‘Damon called me. He had you flagged the minute you passed through Customs.’

      ‘Man, I hate that.’ Who’d have a computer hacker for a brother? ‘No respect for privacy whatsoever.’

      ‘Handy, though. Exactly what is it you plan to do in Istanbul, Lena?’

      ‘Find Jared.’

      ‘What makes you think he’s still there?’

      ‘I don’t. But it’s the only lead we’ve got. Nineteen months and not one word on his whereabouts until now. What if he needs our help?’

      ‘If he needs our help he’ll ask for it.’

      ‘What if he can’t? Jared’s in over his head. I can feel it. He wouldn’t go this long without finding a way to contact us. He just wouldn’t.’

      ‘He would