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Minutes later he was back in place on the roof, safe and undiscoverable, the detonator in his hand, gratitude in his heart, his body humming with a beautiful sense that the universe had turned in his direction after all.
Yes, Diego thought with a smile as he raised the scope to his eyes. Maybe the script had indeed been rewritten with him as the star not the sidekick, the hero not the villain, the savior not the snake.
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“Save your breath, you snake.” Ice squared his shoulders at Rhett, his broad body firmly between Indy and the man she knew was her father, knew not from his face or his eyes, not from his voice or his smile, but from something deeper, the physical knowledge which still lingered in her muscles and tissues and organs and blood, a visceral certainty which matched what she’d felt in the depths of madness, at the heights of insanity. “Because you’re not going to be breathing much longer.”
Indy placed her hand on Ice’s bulging, twitching, tensed-up triceps. “He hasn’t said anything yet, Ice.”
Ice’s skin was burning hot to the touch. He shrugged her hand off his arm, glancing briefly over his shoulder to make sure Indy was protected by his body. “And let’s keep it that way. There’s nothing he can say that’s going to save his life.”
Indy gulped back a sudden flash of panic. She wasn’t sure if Ice was just posturing to provoke Rhett or if this rage was real. It felt ominously real, like maybe Ice had been faking the calmness out in the car just to avoid an argument.
Had he been lying to her or to himself when he agreed to play it cool, to flip that switch to ice and stay far away from fire?
Either way, this whole thing felt dangerous and on edge, Indy thought.
Especially with Benson standing off to the side, shiny silver handgun pointed squarely at Rhett.
Pointed at her father.
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Iam her father.
The certainty almost brought Rhett to his knees. It sure as hell took his breath, took his voice, took his vision. He swayed on his feet, swallowing hard and blinking harder as he fought to stay conscious and upright.
Through his blinking vision the girl’s eyes came into vivid focus, and now Rhett was flooded with warmth and yearning, regret and loathing, a wrenching retching racking range of emotions both dark and delightful as he looked upon what he and Scarlet had created.
And if they’d created this beautiful bright woman with eyes that burned with both innocence and wisdom, fearlessness and femininity, strength and softness, then hell, maybe Rhett and Scarlet weren’t all the way dark, weren’t all the way evil, weren’t all the way forsaken.
Rhett’s lips moved now, but no sound emerged, certainly no words. He was transfixed by the sight of his daughter, oblivious to the gun pointed at him, ignorant of the clear and obvious threat posed by this seething storming Delta killer who was burning with a protective fire so hot Rhett could almost see the flames.
Ice Wagner stood squarely in front of Indy, but she leaned her head to the side to meet Rhett’s gaze, to hold it long enough to communicate something that Rhett understood in his body not his brain, in his heart not his head, in emotion not words.
You are nothing to me, the girl’s eyes were saying as they studied him with curiosity more than coldness, like Rhett was not much more than a biological fact in her life, a footnote from her past.
The thought wrenched at Rhett’s gut, bringing on a sinking feeling of despair, of meaninglessness, impotence, irrelevance.
Then suddenly it hit Rhett that maybe Indy’s cool detachment was because she didn’t know.
Yes, maybe she didn't know.
Of course she didn’t know!
All she and Ice knew was that Rhett had set O’Donnell up, right?
Wagner was just pissed off about the setup.
Indy was just curious about the guy who’d picked her as a patsy in his political game.
Now relief rushed through Rhett. Hope soared in him. Anticipation ignited his heart. She just didn’t know, he told himself feverishly. Once she knew, then he’d see the reaction, feel the emotion, satisfy that yearning hunger to connect with her, to be acknowledged by her . . .
To be loved by her?
The thought was preposterous, but something in Rhett’s calloused heart almost exploded with overwhelming warmth. He thought of that single solitary sob which had burst forth back at the house. He remembered that strange coincidence with the mother-and-child shape formed by the blood clotted on his knuckles.
He opened his mouth to speak, to tell her what she must not yet know, must not yet understand, must not yet see in his eyes, must not yet feel in his heart.