A Soldier's Redemption (8 page)

“All the signs are there for someone who can read them. Which most people can't. It took me more than a day to figure it out, so don't worry that you've tipped off everyone in the county. I'm sure you haven't. But it's the only picture that fits. Am I wrong?”

She shook her head stiffly. “It was that easy?”

“Actually, you made it very hard. Like I said, I didn't glom on to it immediately. But when I put a few things together, it was the only explanation I could think of. The alternative was to think you're just crazy, and you're not crazy, Cory.”

She felt numb, almost out of her own body, with shock. This man had figured her out so fast, and yet he said it had taken him too long. How did that add up?

But if he'd figured it out, how many others had? No one, he said. But could she safely believe it?

“Trust me,” he said, “it wouldn't occur to anyone not familiar with the protocols. You don't give anything away.”

“I…find that hard to believe, now.”

“Well, believe it. WITSEC is not the first thing that would occur to anyone about you. It would probably be the last.”

“Why?”

“Because no one would suspect you of being a criminal, even if they suspect you have some secrets.”

“I'm not a criminal!”

“I know that. It's obvious. And since everyone thinks that only criminals get witness protection, you're even more covered. Very well covered.”

Her eyes burned and she felt hollow as she looked at him. “What now?” she asked, a bare whisper.

“Well, all I have is a suspicion. But you can choose how to act on it. Call the sheriff, I'll tell him everything I noticed about the guy. Call the Marshals and they'll move you again. Or…I can try to protect you until we get something solid.”

She'd already made up her mind she didn't want to move again. Once was enough. What few tenuous connections she had managed to make here were more than she wanted to sacrifice. She couldn't face another blank slate in a blank town, couldn't face having to start all over again, small though her start here had really been. After all, there was Emma, Marsha, Gage, Nate and Marge Tate. While she hadn't exactly gotten close, she had come to know them a bit. And she discovered she wanted to know them even better.

She raised her eyes to his, resolve steadying her. “I'm not running again.”

He nodded. “I kind of decided the same thing this morning.”

She nodded slowly. “I guess you did.” Her decision made, her muscles began to uncoil slowly, one by one. “I guess I need to tell you the story.”

“Cory, you don't have to tell me a damned thing. I can work this without knowing. Your secrets can remain your secrets. But I gather, since you didn't recognize the guy at the store, that he's not someone you're afraid of.”

“No. Actually…I saw only one man. The man who killed my husband and shot me.”

“Shot you?” He stopped short.

She nodded, and for some reason she didn't understand, she opened her robe and tugged her pajama top up enough to reveal the scar across her midriff. “He killed my baby, too.”

He swore, a word she wasn't used to hearing, and the
next thing she knew he'd gathered her up off the chair and was carrying her through the house toward her bedroom. There he laid her down on the queen-size bed, and stretched out beside her. Without another word, he drew her into a close embrace, as if he wanted to surround her with the shield of his body. As if he wanted to shelter her from it all.

But nothing could. She stared blindly at his chin as her head rested on his upper arm, feeling as if a wind had blown through her and left her empty in every way, empty of her past, empty of her hopes and dreams, empty of feeling.

Something in her had died all over again.

In the hollowness that seemed to engulf her, she heard her own voice. It sounded dreamy, disconnected, as if it belonged to someone else and she wasn't in control. And maybe she wasn't.

“I didn't really grieve about the baby,” she heard herself say. “I'd just found out that morning. Not enough time for it to become real.”

“Mmm.” A sound to let her know he was listening, indicating no reaction whatever. She didn't want a reaction. She couldn't have handled one just then. “What
was
real was that when I woke up from surgery they told me that the only part of Jim I had left was gone, too. I miscarried because of the trauma.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I was…I was at the best and brightest point of my life that night. The happiest. I had Jim, we were going to have a baby. Maybe no one is entitled to that much happiness.”

“Everyone is entitled to that kind of happiness.”

“Really? Even you?”

He didn't answer, his silence speaking volumes.

“We went out for dinner to celebrate the news, came
home and…made love. I was so happy I couldn't even sleep. And then some son of a bitch came through our door and took it all away with a gun.”

He murmured something, but she didn't try to make it out. She didn't care. Numbness still wrapped her like cotton wool.

“I saw the man. They couldn't find him, though, couldn't identify him. We think…they think…he was working for a drug gang that Jim was about to bring in indictments against. A hired gun, probably. They put me in protection from the instant I got to the hospital. They wouldn't even let me go to Jim's funeral.”

His arms tightened a bit, but he said nothing.

“Then, after three months in a safe house, they told me I had to relocate because the word on the street was there was a contract on me because I could identify Jim's murderer.”

“Not penny-ante criminals then.”

“No. Sometimes I think they were bigger fish than even Jim realized.”

“Maybe so.”

“There wasn't even a threat beforehand. No warning of any kind. The grand-jury testimony was sealed, the indictments were going to be sealed until they'd rounded everyone up. Maybe there was a leak from somewhere. No one seemed to know. I'll probably never know.”

“So three months in a safe house, and then the beginning of the journey to nowhere.”

“First, first they did a little plastic surgery. I had a nose job. Just enough to make me look different if anyone had a photo of me. My hair…I have to color it. I wear it differently now. Not big changes.”

“Big enough changes. The nose especially. Minimal change, maximum impact.”

“That's what they said. Change a nose and you change the whole face.”

“That must have been hard for you.”

“Even now I sometimes jump when I look in a mirror. Anyway, they moved me through three towns before the nose job. After that, it was another six towns. We'd stay for a while, then they'd pack me up and move me again. They said they were making sure nobody could follow me.”

“That's right.”

“So you've done that part, too?”

“I've done it all, from the moving to the safe-house protection. Of course, I had the disadvantage of having to protect a couple of really bad guys. Sometimes it seems hardly worth the trouble.”

“But it is, right?”

“If they have enough information, yes. In your case, it would have been an honor.”

She reached up with one hand and touched his chin. At once he tipped his head to look at her. “I hated it.”

“I imagine so.”

“But they were really doing everything they possibly could for me. Even while I hated it, I understood it. They went out of their way for me.”

“Because you were innocent.”

“Because my husband was an assistant U.S. attorney. Because he was one of theirs. I don't kid myself that I would have gotten the same kind of care except for Jim. The only man I could put behind bars is the man who killed a federal prosecutor.”

Something in his dark eyes seemed to soften just a hair, but he didn't argue with her, probably because he knew she was right.

“Those kinds of resources,” she said, “don't get spent on just anybody. I could have witnessed almost any other
murder, been the only one able to identify the killer, and I'd have been on my own before long.”

“Seems like you're kind of on your own now.”

“That's the way it works.”

He nodded. “Most of the time. Are you angry about that?”

“That I got first class instead of coach? How could I be angry about that? What I'm angry about is that every single thing I cared about was stripped away from me. My family, my friends, my career. Sometimes I get angry at myself for letting them take me away.”

“Be sensible. What good would it possibly have done to get yourself killed?”

“It might have spared me the limbo I've been living in.”

He sighed and cupped her cheek with his warm hand. “Now that's crazy talk. Somehow we'll get this guy and then you can get on with your life.”

“Can I? I'm not so sure of that. I was supposed to be safe ever since I got here, but I haven't spent one hour of one day without looking over my shoulder.”

“All I can tell you is that things may be coming to a head finally. And that I'm trained for this kind of stuff. And that the last year…Cory, think about all you went through. Of course you couldn't get your bearings, especially when you had good reason to be terrified.”

“Apparently so, since I seem to have been found.”

He fell silent for a half minute, then said, “You're going to hate me for this.”

“For what?”

“Maybe it's a good thing you've been found. Maybe we can deal with this mess for once and for all. Maybe we can get your life back.”

“I don't exactly have a life to get back anymore.”

“Maybe you could even go home and resume your career.”

“I don't know about that. I'm not sure I want to.” She was sorry then, sorry because the numbness wore off suddenly and she started feeling again.

And what she felt was a pain deeper and wider than the Grand Canyon. When she started to cry, he just gathered her closer.

As if that would help. As if anything could help.

H
e wiped her tears gently away when she finally quieted. For a long time he just held her, but finally he spoke. “We have to talk about how to deal with this.”

“What can we possibly do?

“Well, I'll have to think about that some, but we've still got to talk. We have to sort through your options and my options, and see what we can come up with. There's a lot I can do, but I don't usually plan entire operations by myself.”

“Teamwork?”

“Yes. And you're my team. And the sheriff, too. We've got to talk this all over with him.”

“I don't want to! What if he calls the Marshals? I don't want to do that again.”

“Easy now. I'm sure we can convince Gage not to do that. But as good as I may be, I'm still just one man, Cory. We're going to need some help.”

She pressed her face into his shoulder, hating all of this, from the fear that tingled along her spine to the sense of being trapped in a nightmare. Why couldn't she have even an hour of forgetfulness? Was that so much to ask?

Then he shifted her, so that she lay even closer to him. His hand began to run over her back, in steady, soothing circles. At least she thought he meant them to be soothing, but after a few minutes they had a totally different effect. Their passionate kiss yesterday had made her aware of her own needs again, and it didn't take long for her body to remind her that there was still something good in life, something that could be hers for the asking. Something that would make her forget.

But forgetfulness quickly took a backseat to a slowly building heat. Even if her mind and heart quailed, her body wanted to spring back to life, to grasp it with both hands and revel in it.

The softest of sighs escaped her, and she tried to wiggle closer, to say with her body what she could not with words.

His hand paused. As soon as she realized he must have received her silent message, she caught and held her breath, torn between an impulse to pull away and hide, and an almost excruciating hope that he wouldn't turn her away.

She should run. Now. Because she couldn't handle the rejection. Not now. Not after all she had exposed about herself.

Turn away
now,
don't give him the chance to say no.

But her body refused to obey her brain. It wanted something primal, something more elemental, an affirmation of life that bypassed all those messed-up circuits in her brain.

His hand left her back. She tensed in expectation of the rejection. But instead he caught her chin and turned her
face up so they were looking at one another, only inches apart. His dark eyes searched hers, then moved over her face, as if seeking an answer to some question.

Then he swooped in like a bird of prey and took her mouth in a kiss that stunned her with its intensity, as if he wanted to draw her very soul out of her.

Oh, he knew how to kiss. His tongue mated with hers in a rhythm that exactly matched the pulsing it set off in her body. Fireworks sparkled along her nerve endings, making every inch of her so sensitive that the merest brush of clothing against her skin seemed overwhelmingly sensual and sexual.

He shifted, tugging both her legs between his, so they were locked together and her throbbing center was out of reach even as it grew heavy and aching with need.

All from a kiss.

Her body wanted to fight the imprisonment until she felt his hardness against her belly. She understood then. He wanted her every bit as much as she wanted him, but he would make her wait, slow her down, force patience where she felt none.

And that understanding made her relax into his arms, and let him have his way.
No need to rush.
No need at all. Somehow that freed her in a way desire alone couldn't have.

He continued to hold her close with one arm as he kissed her, but his other hand began to wander. He slipped it under her robe, leaving only her pajamas in the way, and stroked her side from breast to thigh, to the point where his leg trapped hers, then swept it up again, slowly…oh, so slowly.

And as it returned upward, it slid beneath her pajama top, and she gasped. She arched a little, breaking the kiss as she felt his callused palm touch her bare skin. He stayed
there for a while, drawing slow, lazy circles on her middle while his mouth claimed hers again, this time more gently, echoing the touch of his fingers.

Impatience started to build in her again, causing her to squirm a bit against his bondage, but he didn't release her. Her breasts ached for a touch, a kiss, until she thought she would go out of her mind from the longing.

Yet still he withheld it.

Tearing her mouth from his, she gasped for air, then reached with one hand to undo the buttons of his shirt. If he wasn't going to give her more, she would take more.

He didn't stop her when she pulled open his shirt and pressed her palm at last to his chest. She thought she even heard a deep sound of pleasure escape him as she began to trace the contours of those hard muscles, glorying in the smoothness of his skin, in the ripples across his belly, in the small points of his nipples. Exquisite. Perfect. As much a feast for her hands as he had been for her eyes.

Then without warning, his hands gripped her around her waist, he freed her from the prison of his legs and leaving her almost dizzy, he lifted her over him, so that she straddled his hips.

A groan escaped her as he tugged her down until her moist yearning depths met his hardness through layers of denim and cotton. What was he doing? She needed to get rid of the clothing that interfered.

But when she reached for the snap of his jeans, he stopped her and murmured roughly, “Just ride me, Cory.”

She didn't know what he meant until his hands gripped her hips again and he moved her against him. All of a sudden those layers of fabric didn't seem to matter. Her hips helplessly rocked against him, demanding a solution to the problem of need.

And as she rocked, he slipped his hands up under her nightshirt and cupped her breasts, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples.

He might as well have plugged her into an electric socket. Shocks zinged through her, setting her alight, then zipped to her center, creating an ache that made her forget everything, everything except her need.

“That's the way…” He groaned the words, urging her on, tormenting her even as he encouraged her to ride the cresting wave. And somehow, by keeping them both clothed, he had set her free in an unexpected way.

Set her free to take what she wanted as she rubbed herself against him over and over. Set her free to give in to her need without thought of anything or anyone other than herself.

Free to be.

Free to ride the crest of the wave all the way until she tumbled wildly into the warm waters below.

And knew peace.

 

She lay on Wade's chest, his arms around her as aftershocks made her tremble. Her legs sprawled on either side of him, leaving her open, and each aftershock caused her to tighten them just a bit against his hips.

She felt more safe, more secure and more relaxed than she had since…the shooting. And she couldn't even rustle up a smidgen of guilt about it.

Well, except that she didn't know if Wade had enjoyed it quite as much as she had, didn't know if he'd found completion himself. And had no way to ask.

Silly, after what they had just shared, an experience all the more exhilarating because of the way he had brought it about, that she should feel a bit shy. But there it was.

But oh, she never would have believed that having sex
while fully clothed could actually enhance the experience, could arouse her so much, could give her such a sense of primitive freedom. In a way, she supposed, it had been an updated version of dragging her away to a cave by her hair. Little finesse, a lot of hunger, and
bam!

He'd lingered just long enough for her inhibitions to weaken, and then he'd forced her to shed them all. Quick, hot and ready.

And damn, it felt good.

He moved at last, just a bit, lifting a hand to stroke the back of her head, then wind a strand of her hair around his finger.

“You okay?” he asked gruffly.

“I'm fine,” she murmured. “You?”

“Pretty amazed, actually.”

At that she lifted her head and looked at him. His hard face looked softer now, and even his obsidian eyes seemed less like rock and more like deep waters. “How so?”

“I couldn't begin to explain.”

She laid her cheek on his chest again. “Some things beggar words, I guess.”

“Maybe so.” He released the strand of her hair, and ran a fingertip along the curve of her jaw. “Were you a teacher, before?”

This man had a gift for putting a few pieces together into complete a puzzle, so she guessed it shouldn't have surprised her that he had figured that out. “Why do you ask?”

“Something you said. Well, actually, something you started to say and never finished. You caught yourself just as you started to say the word.”

“And you finished it.”

“I do that sometimes.”

“God, you're incredible. It's like you read minds.”

“I'm just observant. You don't have to tell me.”

“No, it's okay. I was a teacher. Maybe I'll teach again someday.”

“Was there a reason they didn't just get you a certificate here?”

“They felt it would leave too much of a trail.” And here was reality, intruding again. She almost wanted to beat her fist on something.

“Sorry, guess I'm ruining the moment.”

She must have grown tenser, she thought. In some way he'd picked up on her reaction. He was amazing. In so many ways. Jim had been a sensitive guy, but not this sensitive. “No, I can't hide for long from reality. Not now,” she admitted finally. “Not when there may be a threat.”

“No.” A word of agreement.

Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. No more breaks for her today, she thought almost ruefully.

“I think,” Wade said after a moment, “that you ought to take a shower while I go make us some breakfast.”

“You're going to do the cooking?”

“I told you I know some basics. I may not be able to turn out that pasta thing you managed last night, but I can make a mean scrambled egg, and I can cook it with anything from sunlight, to a flameless ration heater, to a candle to a stove.”

“I recommend the stove.”

“Since it's available.”

She lifted her head and looked at him again. “How do you cook with sunlight?”

“We carry mirrors for signaling. All you have to do is set it up right.”

She nodded. “Someday you'll have to show me.”

He rolled then, dumping her off him onto the bed. He smiled, actually smiled down at her as he raised himself
on one elbow. “Shower,” he repeated. “I'll go make some edible scrambled eggs.”

Then he gave her a quick hard kiss and was gone.

 

For the first time in forever, Cory thought about what she was putting on. Ordinarily she grabbed a uniform from her closet, or just a shirt and jeans, not caring which. But this morning she dithered over whether she should wear a denim skirt, the brown plaid shirt with the piped yoke, or a plainer polo shirt.

Finally she told herself to stop being ridiculous, pulled on fresh jeans—in Florida jeans were rarely worn except when it was cool, but here everyone wore them even if it was hot—and the gold polo shirt. She even added a bit of lipstick and mascara, from among the few personal possessions she'd been able to bring with her: nothing that wouldn't fit into a suitcase.

Good smells reached her as soon as she opened her bedroom door. Apparently Wade had added some bacon to the menu from the groceries he had bought yesterday, and from the aroma she could tell he'd brewed fresh coffee. Not only a second cup today, but a second pot. Now that was an extravagance she hadn't enjoyed in far too long.

When she entered the kitchen, she found the table already set. The bacon was draining on a paper towel over a plate on the table, and a stack of toast stood on the counter beside the toaster, already buttered.

“You can cook,” she said with surprise.

“Told you. What do you think happens when we're at some small firebase on our own? We take turns, and God help the guy who can't even make a decent breakfast.”

A little laugh escaped her.

“And here it's easy. You even have a toaster. Take a seat. I'll bring you coffee.”

She sat, saying, “I thought you guys had prepackaged meals. What are they called?”

“MREs. Meals, Ready-to-Eat. Three lies in three letters. I won't give you any of the slang names for them.”

“But you cooked anyway?”

“When we move, we move fast and travel light. Try to live off the land. Besides, what you eat affects how you smell, so it's best to eat local diet as much as possible.”

She noticed his consistent use of the present tense, and wondered if he really found it that hard to put his years as a SEAL in the past, or if the present situation had just put him back in the mental mode as if he'd never left.

“I never would have thought of that,” she said as he joined her at the table with the toast and eggs.

The eggs were perfectly cooked, not too dry or moist, though he evidently hadn't whipped them. But why would that occur to him, considering he had done most of his cooking in the field? He'd spiced them with just a hint of cayenne, too, making them more savory.

“Perfect,” she said, complimenting him.

One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “Thanks. I hate overdone eggs. I'll eat them, but I won't like it.”

For a man who said he didn't know how to converse, he was doing a darn good job of it. Maybe something in him had begun to open up, too, as it had inside her.

Almost as soon as she had the thought, he clammed up again. They ate breakfast in silence and hardly said a word as they washed up afterward.