She nodded and turned, making her way to the threshold before she turned back toward him. “Do not seek to see things inside me that are not there.”
“I have only scratched your surface. I cannot be worried about the things that aren’t there when the things that are present are so fucking amazing. But I will give you this and hopefully it will ease your mind—when I take you, I will be taking all of you—the good and the bad. Goodnight, moye.”
He turned back to the window, watching the storm. His feeling of loss was a ragged wound in his soul. He would use the time until light broke open the sky to mourn Ninka.
Tomorrow, he would start the fight with Bone again.
Chapter Ten
“I will leave soon,” Bone told Bullet as they walked out to the range.
Dmitry had been wrong about the weather. The storm passed so quickly it hadn’t done much damage. The ground was wet and there were limbs and leaves everywhere but the sky no longer wept and the sun was making a valiant attempt to show its face this morning.
Rand Beckett had decided to settle on this land he’d originally purchased for the wife and daughter Joseph took from him. The house was being renovated, or rather completed and filled with furniture. The grounds that sprawled around the house had begun to take the shape of a training venue.
The range he’d set up specifically for Bullet. But there were now training facilities and a path had been cleared that skirted the beach before delving into the woods surrounding the house. Bone wished she had time to run, but it just wasn’t to be.
Bullet nodded, accepting her sister’s words and not venturing an opinion.
“How is your rage, Bone?” Bullet asked.
“It is there,” she answered simply.
“Should you call Blade to go with you to Russia?”
Bone snorted. “And take her away from her search for the boy? No. Besides, am I a child to need a keeper now? Not even Joseph sent me out with a handler, Bullet. I believe I was the only one out of all of us who did not require a sitter.”
“I am simply checking. The next moves are crucial. You would question me if the tables were reversed.”
Bone ignored the censure in her sister’s tone. “Have you managed to find out anything on Nodachi?”
Bullet shook her head and stopped as they came to the range. Beyond the targets, in a small field cleared and then filled with flowers that shouldn’t bloom at this time of year, were the babies. Ten children rescued from the clutches of Joseph Bombardier.
Each life was a win for First Team. Not that any of this was a game, but with as many as they’d been forced to watch die, each of the children standing in that field coated with reds, blues, purples, and yellows was affirmation. That they lived lent credence to the fact that everything First Team had endured was worth it.
“They do not sleep well and most cry out from their dreams when they do,” Bullet told her.
“I would expect nothing less. Most of them were slated for termination. I can only imagine how they were used as bait for the others.”
“They have asked to see you,” Bullet said with a smile.
Always she smiled now. Bone rubbed her chest at the queer ache that took root. Bullet had changed—become more and it was good to witness.
Bone walked to the clearing and stopped in front of the old woman she’d only ever known as Juana.
“No he olvidado, anciana,” Bone said harshly.
The woman smiled, her heavily lined face softening. “Tengo la esperanza de que un día se quiere, rompehuesos.”
Bone passed her then and stepped into summer flowers covering an autumn field. When the children saw her, they stopped their exercises and bowed their heads. She took her time making her rounds, touched each one on the head, praising them for their strength, their courage in surviving hell. They shook, clearly in the grips of fear. Bone was a killer after all, but they persevered.
She walked to stand in front of them and said, “Do you remember the dance I showed you?”
Each of the girls nodded, eyes bright though their faces remained blank.
Bone looked at them, forcing them by will alone to meet her gaze. Once they did, she allowed her lips to curve. “Then we shall dance,” she murmured.
Dancing could take one of two paths—killing or training. Tai Chi had never been for her. There was not enough force to the movements. When Bone danced she preferred to mark the steps with death, but for the babies she learned to control that lust for endings so she could show them how to calm their raging hearts.
Bullet sat at the edge of the clearing, her gaze on the babies, a smile hovering on her lips.