Authors: Irene Hannon
Tags: #Mystery, #Romance, #Suspense, #Thriller, #Contemporary
Against All Odds (41 page)
Coop expelled a frustrated breath. “I’ll make the tea. And try again.”
Except five minutes later, as he approached her room carrying a steaming mug, he could see through her cracked door that she was already asleep. She hadn’t even bothered to pull back the bedspread. Setting the mug on the dresser, he retrieved a throw from a chair by the window and gently draped it over her.
Mark was eating a piece of toast when Coop rejoined him in the kitchen, mug in hand.
“What’s up?”
“She’s already asleep.”
“Must be a powerful painkiller. But she needs the rest.”
“I agree. I’ll try to talk to her again about the trip after she wakes up.” Coop set the mug on the counter. “Any more bread?”
“A whole loaf in the freezer.”
Half a dozen pieces of toast and three cups of coffee later, Coop pushed aside his plate as Mark reached for his BlackBerry.
“Les,” Mark relayed, checking the caller ID.
The conversation was brief and one-sided. And Mark’s sober expression didn’t bode well as he ended the call.
“What’s up?” Coop gripped his mug of coffee.
“Les tried to call you first. Your battery must be dead.” Mark took a deep breath. “David Callahan didn’t make it.”
24
Monica’s eyelids flickered open, but the room was fuzzy, and she felt groggy and disoriented. Jumbled images of an anonymous safe house, a bare-bones motel room, and an antiseptic-smelling hospital swirled through her mind, confusing her. As her focus sharpened, however, she realized she was in her own room. Lying in her bed.
Had all the horror, all the trauma, been no more than a bad dream?
She rolled to her side, and the sharp jab of pain in her hip, along with the dull throb in her head and face, answered her question. The nightmare had been real.
And it wasn’t over yet, she recalled with a start. Her father was critically injured. She needed to pack for a flight to Germany.
Lifting her arm, she squinted at her watch. Blinked. Looked again. Panicked. That couldn’t be right! She remembered Mark saying they needed to leave by one o’clock for the drive to Andrews. It was five after twelve! And she hadn’t packed yet! Why hadn’t Coop awakened her?
Propelled by a sense of urgency, she swung her legs to the floor and stood. Too fast. The room tilted, and she groped for the bedpost, clinging to it until the world steadied. Moving with more caution, she worked her way down the hall, her fingers again splayed on the wall for support. The house was quiet, and for a moment she wondered if Coop and Mark had stepped out for some reason. But as she rounded the doorway into the kitchen, she found Coop staring out the window into her backyard, his profile pensive, a mug in his hands.
“Coop? It’s after twelve! Why didn’t you wake me?”
He turned toward her, his eyes narrowing a fraction as he scrutinized her. The flicker of some emotion she couldn’t define produced a subtle shift in his expression, and he set the cup on the table before walking toward her.
“Let’s sit down in the living room for a minute.” He took her arm.
“Coop, we’re going to be late!” She resisted his gentle pressure and sent him an alarmed look. “I need to pack.”
“We have time.”
“No, we don’t! I’m not moving that fast today.” She tried to tug her arm free, but he held fast.
“Trust me on this, Monica.” His gaze locked on hers, and he repeated his previous comment. “We have time.”
His tone held a trace of . . . dread, she decided, and sudden panic squeezed the breath from her lungs. “What’s wrong?”
“Let’s sit.”
A feeling of impending doom swept over her, and she didn’t resist his third attempt to guide her toward the living room. After easing her down on the couch and finding a pillow for her back, he took the chair at right angles to her and leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees. He’d shed his suit jacket and loosened his tie, and the haggard planes of his face reminded her she wasn’t the only one who’d had a rough few days.
“Where’s Mark?” Delaying the inevitable wasn’t going to change Coop’s message, but all at once she didn’t want to hear what he had to say. Not yet.
“He had a few errands to run. He’ll be back soon.” Taking a deep breath, he wove his fingers through hers, his gaze never releasing hers. “I have some bad news, Monica. My boss called a little while ago. I’m sorry to tell you your dad didn’t make it.”
She heard the words. Understood them. Couldn’t accept them.
“I thought you said he was in Landstuhl.”
“He was. The operation was in progress and going well. But he went into cardiac arrest and suffered a massive heart attack. There was no way to save him. I’m sorry, Monica.”
Silence fell in the room as she processed the news. She didn’t want to believe it was true. Not when everything else had turned out so well. But Coop wouldn’t lie to her.
Deep inside, she felt something shatter.
“Now we’ll never have a chance to try and forge some kind of relationship.” She choked on the last word, swallowed, swiped at the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “Before the bombing . . . did he know I was okay?”
“He knew we’d located you. And that a rescue operation was in progress.”
“I’m grateful for that, anyway.” She looked down at their clasped hands, grateful, too, for the presence of this man at this moment. “What do I . . . what happens next?”
“Someone from the State Department will call you in the next few hours to discuss arrangements. They’ll handle all the details.”
“I don’t even know what my father would want.” The knowledge saddened her.
“Given the dangerous nature of his work and his reputation for thoroughness, I suspect he may have left some instructions. Don’t worry about that unless you have to.”
His BlackBerry began to vibrate, and he automatically reached for it. Checked himself.
“Go ahead and get it. It might be important.”
Conceding the point, Coop pulled the phone out of the holder and scanned the caller ID. “Cooper . . . yes . . . yes . . . that’s fine.” He slid it back onto his belt. “Mark will be here in a couple of minutes.”
“I guess you guys need to get back to Quantico.”
“It’s Friday afternoon, and I have the weekend off—if you’d like some company.”
The offer surprised Monica. And the warmth and caring in Coop’s eyes touched a raw, aching place in her soul. Facing the weekend alone would be torture, she realized. There would be decisions to make, red tape to deal with, grief to process. Coop might be new in her life, but she already knew his strength and quiet competence would bolster her in the days ahead. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation in his response.
Nor in hers. “Then I accept.”
He lifted his free hand, as if to touch her face, but the doorbell interrupted them.
“My partner always did have impeccable timing.” One side of his mouth hitched up in a wry half smile. He let his hand fall away, and with a gentle squeeze of her fingers he rose to admit Mark.
The murmur of quiet conversation sounded in the hall, and a few seconds later Mark appeared in the doorway. He walked over to Monica, dropped into the chair Coop had vacated, and took both her hands in his. “I’m sorry about your father, Monica.”
“Thank you.”
“I know Coop is staying this weekend, but if you need anything after that, don’t hesitate to let us know. We’ll do whatever we can to help.”
“I appreciate that. And everything you guys did.”
“All in a day’s work.” He flashed her a brief smile, squeezed her hands, and rose.
After Coop showed him out, he returned holding a pizza box. “Mark brought us some provisions. You need to eat.”
“Later.” Food held zero appeal for her.
“Did you have any food yesterday?”
“No.”
“How about today?”
“I had breakfast at the hospital.”
“Hospital food is an oxymoron. You need real food. And I don’t like to eat alone. Come on, try a few bites.”
It was hard to refuse, considering all he’d done for her. In the end, Monica capitulated to his entreaties.
And that’s how the weekend went. Coop cajoled and bartered, somehow convincing her to eat a decent amount of food. He persuaded her to watch some of the old comedies she had in her DVD collection. When the State Department called about funeral arrangements, he sat by her side, holding her hand as she worked through the details.
She also managed to put quite a dent in the jar of M&Ms.
Mostly, though, she found herself falling hard for a dark-eyed HRT operator—and wondering what would happen to their relationship now that his mission was over.
On Sunday night, when Mark drove down from Quantico to pick him up, Coop wasn’t ready to leave. Not even close. As Monica walked him to the door, he turned to her. Her movements weren’t as stiff today, and a tiny bit of her natural color had returned to her cheeks. The puffiness in her eyelid had subsided, and her lips no longer appeared swollen and cracked. But her bruises hadn’t faded one iota. He hated to leave her alone in such a battered condition.
“I could take a couple of days off.” He’d offered earlier, and she’d refused. He wasn’t certain why he’d brought it up again.
“No. I’ve monopolized your life too much already. I’m sure you had better things to do this weekend than babysit the walking wounded.”
He thought about what he’d have done on a normal Saturday and Sunday in Quantico. Gone to a couple of bars. Had a little too much to drink. Shot some pool. Talked up some pretty women. Once upon a time, he would have considered that a perfect weekend.
Not anymore.
“No, Monica, I didn’t. There’s nowhere else I’d rather have been.”
His candor surprised him as much as it seemed to surprise her. Open, honest communication with the opposite sex was new for him. He didn’t typically reveal his deepest feelings to anyone—female or male. But he felt safe with this woman. It was a new—and unsettling—experience.
“Thank you.”
Her earnest, whispered response tugged at his heartstrings, reaching deep inside him to reawaken once again the long-buried protective instinct she’d managed to tap into from the moment they met. And her proximity didn’t help matters. She stood close enough for him to catch the faint, fresh fragrance emanating from her hair. To feel her warmth. To see the glints of gold in her green irises and the spark of fire in her russet hair.
Coop had had no intention of kissing her this weekend. Her emotions were in tatters, and taking advantage of a woman who was still reeling from a traumatic experience didn’t strike him as an honorable thing to do.
But over the past two days, as they’d chuckled together over old movies, as he’d comforted and consoled when unexpected tears overwhelmed her, as he’d fended off the press while she’d braved their blitz in order to attend church, as they’d shared pizza and M&Ms and confidences, he’d found his resolve wavering.
Now, as she stared up at him in the dim light of the foyer, he could see she dreaded this parting as much as he did. Perhaps not for quite the same reasons, though, he reminded himself. With all she’d been through, it was only logical she would have welcomed a protector this weekend in her violated home. His presence had helped her feel safe.
Yet he read more in her expression than that. More, he speculated, than she was aware of. Tenderness. Caring. Longing. Invitation.
All of which he found impossible to resist.
Without breaking eye contact, he lowered his bag to the floor and touched her cheek, his fingers whisper soft against her skin. He heard her sharp, indrawn breath, felt her go still, but she didn’t pull away. Nor say a word. She wasn’t in any condition for much of a kiss, let alone an embrace, but he couldn’t leave without erasing any doubts that might be lingering in her mind about whether he’d considered this weekend an imposition.
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