Sons of Thunder (31 page)

“Sofia.”

She thought he’d breathed her name, heard it whisper inside her someplace, or perhaps her heart heard it, because it stirred a long-dormant heat inside.

“Markos?” Part of her wanted to slap him. To harness the fury—or perhaps pain—that bolted through and center on his grizzled jaw. The other part—well, it simply wanted to fling herself into his arms, to run her hands down his face, drink in his eyes, his smile.

No, not a smile. He blinked at her, a sort of stripped, almost hungry expression in his eyes. “Yes, it’s me. I can’t believe—” He held up one hand, as if to calm her, the other to reach out to her.

She snapped away from him. “You’re supposed to be dead.” She didn’t exactly hate her tone—she needed it to shore up the woman inside that suddenly wanted to curl into a fetal position, caught.

His eyes tightened, as if she’d struck him. “I know.”

Steps behind her made her whirl around, and the light Markos carried went dark. She heard Markos—whisper-quiet, but when had she not heard his movements?—as he slipped back behind the casks.

She couldn’t very well be caught standing here in the dark. She found the pull chain that dangled from a bulb, and a weak spotlight illumined the center of the room.

If it had been the colonel, or any of the SS, she would have betrayed them all with the shaking of her body, her quick intake of breath. Instead, Lucien blocked the light as he paused on the stairs, his expression flint, his lips knotted into a grim look. “I see you found our agent. I told you it might be a trick. I just didn’t realize what kind.”

He squeezed her arm as he brushed past her, as he moved in front of her, possession in his posture.

“It’s no trick.” Markos moved back out into the dim light. He stared at Lucien, apparently nonplussed by the sight of his former best friend.

Sofia’s gaze stuck for a second on the Nagant revolver jutting from the back of Lucien’s waistband.

Lucien and Markos. She’d never truly understood what transpired between them that day on the docks when they’d escaped Zante. Lucien’s stricken expression. Markos’s sharp rejection.

Now she stood between them, measuring.

“I asked to be assigned here.” Markos’s eyes fixed on Sofia. “I didn’t know what I’d find.”

She heard ringing in her ears, a sort of high-pitched scream she couldn’t shake. Markos, alive. Why hadn’t he come for her? Had he found Dino?

“Like we should believe you.” Lucien handed him a bag. “We found this near your drop-point. It looks like a shoeshine box. What is it?”

“A portable Morse-code radio. We feared you’d lost yours when your contact didn’t radio in confirmation of the drop last night.”

Lucien didn’t spare her a glance when he said, “Our radio was discovered yesterday morning.”

Markos took the box then slung his rucksack from his shoulders. “I tried to find it in the dark, but I lost it in the drop.”

“You dropped? As in…parachuted?” Sofia asked.

“Yeah. From five hundred feet because it was so light out. Nearly didn’t get my chute open. Thought I broke my ankle too.” He glanced at Lucien. “Sorry about your radio—”

“A good man died. The other will.”

Sofia closed her eyes.

Markos drew in a breath. “And your men. I guess that explains why no one met me.” He shoved the radio into the rucksack. “And why I had to hide out in my family’s cellar.” He shot a look at Sofia.

“Your mother is upstairs. In the taverna.”

It seemed a blow to him. His mouth opened, his face paled, as if the blood or wind had flushed from him. His closed his mouth, and a muscle pulled in his jaw. “You can’t tell her I’m here. It’ll only put her in danger.”

His words sucked the breath from her. What kind of man didn’t rush back into the arms of his mother?

Probably the kind without a heart. Perhaps Uncle Jimmy had beaten that out of him after all.

She studied him. A white scar traced his cheekbone, and his face seemed leaner, chiseled almost. The image of her closed in his arms while they hid in Uncle Jimmy’s restaurant flashed behind her eyes, and she could nearly hear his heartbeat. Or perhaps that was the far-off staccato of old bullets.

“We didn’t know if it was a trick or the real thing.” Lucien went to stand by the cellar door, glanced up. Probably one of his men stood guard at the top of the stairs.

“I promise, it’s no trick. British command sent me here.” Markos glanced again at Sofia. “If I’d known you—”

“What are you doing here?” Lucien came back across the room, striding hard. “You left. You left us all.”

“Lucien,” Markos said quietly.

Sofia touched Lucien’s arm, digging her fingers into his shirt. Still— “He’s right, Markos. What
are
you doing here? You…vanished. You left. You…” The truth punched her then—she saw it in his eyes and heard his words—
You can’t tell her I’m here. It’ll only put her in danger.

He hadn’t even intended to follow her to Minneapolis. Hadn’t intended to keep his promise. He’d—just abandoned her. She drew in a sharp breath. “You lied to me.”

He shook his head. “I never lied to you, Sofia. I just—I couldn’t follow you. Not with Uncle Jimmy after me. But I never stopped thinking about you.” His eyes flicked to Lucien, back to her. “Never.”

She stiffened. Willed herself to ignore the flicker of emotion on his face. “Your mother deserves to know you’re alive.”

He let her words fall between them, his chest rising and falling without response. Finally, “I will. When it’s time. You’ll have to trust me.”

The smallest laugh—or perhaps a gasp escaped her lips. And yes, he cringed.

Good.

“Anyone who knows I’m here is in danger.”

“That much is true,” Lucien growled.

“I don’t understand why you didn’t at least tell us you were alive. Dino and I—we thought….” She held up her hand as he sucked in a breath.

Another flicker of emotion, this time different, creased his face. Something almost—angry.

Or—oh no. She knew that look. She’d seen it in the mirror too many times. Disgust.

Everything inside her closed like a fist. Her breath, her heart, it all simply seized.

The truth found her then, sank into her core.

He knew. Somehow, Markos
knew
she’d been with Dino. Knew she’d given herself to him, betrayed their unspoken promises. Only—and anger sparked the thought inside her—if he didn’t love her, if he hadn’t returned for her, then she hadn’t
really
betrayed him, had she? Except, that was the problem—it wasn’t so much
his
heart she betrayed—but hers. With Dino, she’d betrayed herself.

And she hadn’t stopped there.

Her hand cupped her mouth, fighting the burn in her throat, her eyes. Her gaze flickered to Lucien, fell off him, to the dank floor. What if Lucien had told him about the col— “Get him out of my cellar, Lucien. Right now. I can’t—I won’t be a part of this.”

“Sofia!” The tone in Markos’s voice would have stripped another woman, one who had something left to wound. But she turned her back to him, walked to the stairs. “Get him out of here, Lucien. Before the SS shows up.”

“I’m on a mission, Sofia—Lucien, I need your help.”

“What mission?” Lucien hadn’t moved, although Sofia did see him drop his hand to his side, as if he might reach for his revolver.

She might just do it for him.

“We intercepted a message from the German post here. They’re leaving the island, and they’re taking some sort of cargo with them.”

“What kind of cargo?”

Sofia stopped on the bottom step. Looked up. Sure enough, Cosmos stood sentry at the top of the steps, his shadow long as it cascaded into the earth.

“We don’t know. Germans have been raiding Greek museums, ransacking homes, and secreting out of the country millions of drachma’s worth of Greek treasures as they flee. The OSS has been working with
the partisans to stop them. Our intel, and the German communications we’ve intercepted, lead us to believe this cargo is something priceless—some Greek religious artifacts, something they’ve hidden right here in Zante. Maybe at a church, or a monastery, even an old fort. Wherever it is, we plan on finding it, before they steal it.”

His tone made her turn back. Something about it spoke of a different Markos, one who knew the taste of honor.

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “A cache of priceless religious artifacts? Here in Zante? I doubt that.”

Markos took a breath, his gaze settling on Sofia. She turned away, began climbing the steps.

“Maybe not artifacts. Maybe something even more valuable. But it’s here, Lucien. And I promise you that I’m not leaving without it.”

Sofia put out her hand, braced it against the sweaty wall of the cave. The moisture seeped into her pores. From deep inside the cavern, water dripped into the silence between them.

Leaving. She’d been so webbed into the shock of seeing him, the truth had raced right by her.

Leaving. Markos hadn’t come here to stay, let alone to find her.

Leaving.
Of course.

Flee. The urge welled inside her, poured into her bones. She should find little Dino, snatch him up, pull him so tight to her that his smell might embed into her pores, remind her, cool her grief.

But she didn’t run. Instead, she glanced at Lucien. “I need a new cask of wine. Can you help me hook it up to the block and tackle?” Somewhere back in time, an ingenious Stavros had rigged a pulley system that transported the wine from the cave to the taverna. Now Markos moved to intercept Lucien’s movements.

“I’ll do it.” As if he’d worked in the taverna every day for the last
fifteen years, Markos rolled one of the wine barrels down from the pile, rolled it over to the dolly.

Markos, alive. And he knew about Dino. She closed her eyes, pressed a hand to her mouth.

He couldn’t know about little Dino. Not yet. Not until she could explain…

Lucien moved in to help. Markos pushed him away. “I can handle this.”

“She asked
me
for help.”

For a second, she saw them—two boys fighting for the rudder. Lucien, standing whipped as Markos helmed the boat. He’d always stood in Markos’s shadow, and suddenly, there he was again, out-muscled by the boy he wanted to be.

“Thank you, Lucien,” Sofia said softly even as he stepped away.

“Sofia, are you down there? Do you need help with the wine?”

Sofia could see the yearning on Markos’s face for a split second before he stepped away, back into the shadows, as if closing in on himself.

She dashed halfway up the stairs. Ava stood at the opening. Clearly, Lucien’s guard had opted for secrecy. “I’m just hooking up the pulley now. I’ll be there shortly.”

“I’ll help—”

No. “No!” Sofia took another step, held up her hand. Yes, she deserved to see her son. She’d made enough sacrifices.

But should the SS catch him, Ava
was
safer not knowing.

Perhaps they’d all been safer not knowing. Her eyes burned. “Stay there. You can unhook it from the top.”

Ava gathered her skirt, moved away.

Sofia slipped back into the cave. Lucien had already hooked up the pulley and now began to maneuver the bucket.

It rolled up the steep incline.

“Do you know what treasure he’s talking about?” Lucien’s voice cut low, for her ears only.

“I don’t—I haven’t ever heard of such a thing.”
I’m not leaving without it.
She longed to knock those words from her brain, just tilt her head to one side and let them fall out.

They had the power to make her fall to her knees, fists to her eyes.

“What if…” Lucien bent his head close to hers, his face so close she could smell last night’s beer on his breath. In this resemblance to his father, he scared her sometimes. “What if there
are
some sort of valuables—maybe from the Jewish houses they ransacked? Or the churches—”

“What do we have on Zante that could be that important? Nothing. We are an island of fishermen.”

“You heard what Markos said. They’re hiding it here—that doesn’t mean it came from Zante. The Germans have plundered our people, our land, our homes. If we let them steal our heritage, what will we have left? Think of—”

“Shh!” She pushed a hand to his mouth.

He shook it away. “We have to find the cargo, Sofia. For Greece. What if…” He paused, as if chewing on his words. Then, quickly, “What if the colonel knows where it is?”

Sofia caught his eye, sucked her breath at the suggestion she saw in it. “I don’t—Lucien. I can’t—”

“He takes his briefcase home every night. You told me that.”

“Yes, but—I—can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

“You even told me he’d stopped sleeping with it beside his bed. He trusts you. He knows you won’t betray him.”

“Because he’ll
kill
me, or…” She met his gaze, the truth of her words in her eyes.

The wine barrel reached the top of the stairs. “I have it!” Ava called from the top.

“I’ll be right there!” Sofia called back, her eyes still fixed in Lucien’s. She cut her voice to a whisper. “We’re safe because he thinks I’m afraid of him. But if he knows I’ve betrayed him—”

“He is in love with you.”

“No. He’s in love with what I—what I give him.”

Lucien drew in a breath. Tightened his jaw.

“What do you give him, Sofia?” Markos edged into the light, his eyes hard in hers, something akin to the old Markos she’d known—brazen and foolish. Angry.

Or perhaps guilty. She’d never been able to separate the difference.

“What do you give him, Sofia?” His voice softened, and he drew in a breath, as if steeling himself, as if asking the question again scooped something from inside him.

Yes, well, perhaps he should know how that felt.

“Nothing. I give him nothing. Nothing that matters.” Then she turned and followed the wine barrel from the cellar.