Friendly Fire (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 3) (35 page)

"I'd like to talk about the actual rescue." The representative from CNBC News broke into the conversation. "When did you know that a rescue operation was underway, and what was your response to that?"

Emma deferred the question to Noah's mother, who described what had happened immediately prior to the SEALs storming the second story chamber, and how Noah had surprised everyone by producing a gun and shooting the two guerillas. But the worst of the bad guys had then shot Noah. He'd seized three of the hostages for himself—Emma, Kathryn, and Sammy, and dragged them to the lower level.

"Noah sounds like a son you can be proud of," said the reporter when she'd finished. "We'd like to speak to him when he's strong enough. What about you, Miss Sammy?"

Startled that the reporter would address an eleven-year-old directly, Emma sat up straighter, ready to intervene if necessary.

"You must have been very afraid when the outlaw took you downstairs. Can you tell us about that?" he asked her gently.

Sammy sent him a grave nod. "My mom was screaming at him—really bad words that I never heard her say before." She glanced in apology at Emma who could not remember cursing but was heartened to hear that she'd fought back. "But then I heard the Navy SEALs coming down the stairs, and I knew we'd be okay."

Emma regarded her in amazement. The details she recalled were all a horrifying blur in her own mind.

"We were told that this bad guy who had you was the highly dangerous criminal,
El Cuchillo
, and that he used you and two others to protect himself so he could escape the building," the reporter continued. "Is that right?"

Sammy nodded. "Yep. He was squeezing me so tight I could hardly breathe."

"Were you afraid then?"

Sammy shrugged. "I guess. There were a lot of men with guns and some dead guys on the ground, but I knew Jeremiah wouldn't let the bad guys take us." She paused and looked at Emma. "Especially not my mom because I think he loves her," she added unexpectedly.

The comment inspired chuckles and conjecturing looks from the media personnel.

Emma's heart expanded. Sammy sent her a searching look, clearly wondering if she should have said that part. But it was the faith shining in her eyes that brought a burst of insight into Emma's mind, along with a ringing in her ears.

"Next thing I knew I was lyin' on the ground and the man holding me was dead. There was a whole bunch of shooting, and the last bad guys tried driving away, but they didn't get far."

"It sounds like you're some very lucky ladies to have survived all that."

Lucky
. The word stood out in Emma's head in bold letters. Since when had she ever been lucky? And yet they clearly were. For here they sat,
alive
. From what Sammy had just summarized, it was nothing short of miraculous that she, Emma, and Katherine had emerged without a scratch on them. The situation had been a recipe for disaster, yet they'd
survived
.

"Oh, my God," she exclaimed, clapping a hand over her mouth a second later when she realized she'd spoken out loud.

Jeremiah had been right all along. He'd told her over and over again that they would be all right, and they were. It didn't matter that believing anything else while they were being held captive was simply impossible; she had put her faith in a positive outcome—just as he'd told her to. Having faith
did
make a difference.

It had taken Sammy's assertion to make her see it. If her daughter could believe in good endings, then why couldn't she?

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press." The Army public affairs officer planted himself in front of the table. "Thank you for coming," he said to the news crews. "We're going to suspend questions at this time and leave the survivors to reunite with their family members. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

With her heart starting to pound, Emma waved her sister to the table.

Juliet hurried over to them. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"I've made a terrible mistake," Emma admitted, causing Sammy to regard her in alarm.

Juliet frowned. "What kind of mistake?"

"I let Jeremiah go. I sent him away just like the last time. I need to find him again and tell him I believe him now. I
can
do this. I can love a man who goes into danger every day."

Juliet's gray eyes flared with determination. "Damn right you can."

"He left me his number," Emma recalled.

"No, don't call him. You have to tell him in person." Turning from the table, Juliet scanned the room a minute, located the public affairs officer and said, "I'll be right back."

Emma looked over at Sammy. "How do you feel about Jeremiah being in our lives?"

Sammy's expression grew thoughtful. "Are we going to have to move?"

"I don't know, honey. I haven't really thought about it, but I suppose we might if he asked us to. I could teach at a different university. Would you mind that much?"

Sammy shrugged. "I guess not."

Minutes later, Juliet returned with a look of satisfaction on her face.

"What did he say?" Emma asked.

"You were right. He put Jeremiah on a bus to New Orleans earlier this afternoon so he can collect his and Tristan's luggage and then drive back to Virginia Beach in the vehicle they left there."

"We have to get to New Orleans before he leaves," Emma declared.

"Oh, we will," Juliet replied. She gestured with her chin at the public affairs officer. "I got us a ride on his private plane. We're leaving in an hour."

Emma gasped. "How did you manage that?"

"Blackmail," Juliet admitted with a shrug. "I threatened to tell the press about the CIA's involvement in the rescue operation."

"You mean he's CIA?" Emma looked back at the officer's stocky figure.

An educated guess, which he corroborated by his very willingness to cooperate. "Well, don't just sit there. Let's go grab whatever we want to take with us."

"I'm taking all those stuffed animals," Sammy insisted.

"You can keep two of them," Juliet retorted. "It's a small plane," she added.

"Let's do it then," Emma declared, adopting Jeremiah's assured manner of speaking. She pushed back her chair with confidence, but her heart pattered uncertainly.

What if it was too late? What if Jeremiah couldn't forgive her for chasing him away a second time?

Think positive
, she reminded herself,
and it'll all work out.

* * *

The pink plaid suitcase sitting amidst the collection held in a closet next to baggage claim at the port terminal building riveted Jeremiah's gaze. There wasn't any question it belonged to Sammy, who'd been the only little girl on the ill-fated excursion to Tulum. That meant that Emma's suitcase was there, too.

Doubt assailed him. Had his confidence that she would change her mind been misplaced?

What if she never did, and the connection he'd sensed in the future was the same connection they'd always had—a distant one?

An urge to gaze upon on the Icelandic
Escapade
one last time prevented him from collecting his luggage and immediately leaving. He called out to the lone attendant who'd opened the closet for him.

"Hey, do you mind if I take a look at the ship?"

The employee shrugged apathetically and waved a hand at the departure tower. It was one o'clock in the morning. They had the terminal to themselves.

As he climbed the tower with its glass wall facing the moored ship, Jeremiah recalled the last time he had climbed these stairs to the gangplank. The sun had been shining brightly that morning, infusing the April sky with summerlike warmth. Tonight, moonlight cloaked the dark ship in a silvery veil. Then, the receiving deck had overflowed with passengers exclaiming their anticipation and crewmembers playing music and calling out a welcome. Now, the walkways and balconies stood deserted.

The ship had returned to its home port with one crew member and twenty-four passengers less than when it had departed—twenty-six less, if one counted Juliet and Tristan. Secured to its berth, it floated with a somber air as if the ghosts of the murdered passengers now haunted its walkways.

Shaking off his guilt over not being able to save everyone, Jeremiah let happier memories overtake him. There had been moments on that ship that he would cherish forever—Emma standing at the prow and tying back her glorious, auburn hair. Emma dancing in his arms as they bantered about Shakespeare. Emma lying beneath him, her breasts bathed in starlight. Always Emma.

Drawing a breath to counteract the heaviness pressuring his chest, he turned and plodded down the stairs back to baggage claim. There would be plenty of time to reminisce on the long drive home. Having slept for most of the nine-hour bus ride, he would drive all night and arrive in Virginia Beach by dawn.

The dulcet tones of a child's voice floated up the stairwell, wresting his gaze upward. The weight on his chest abruptly lifted.

Don't be stupid,
he warned himself.
That can't possibly be Sammy
.

But his feet believed what his intuition was now insisting—that Emma had come after him just as he'd been counting on. Dying to ascertain if that was true, he leaped down three steps at a time to return as fast as he could to baggage claim.

"He went that way," he heard the employee say. The man now sounded more annoyed than apathetic.

Skidding through a pair of double doors, Jeremiah drew up short at the sight of Emma looking anxious and wind-tossed. "Jeremiah!" she cried catching sight of him.

"Jeremiah!" Sammy echoed his name. As she raced toward him with a grin on her face and her arms outstretched, he reeled at the paternal warmth that crashed over him.

"Sammy," he said, catching her up and spinning in a circle, all without taking his eyes off of Emma, who walked toward him.

"Hey," he said as she approached, a tentative smile on her face. Setting Sammy on her feet, he reached for her mother, pulled her firmly into his embrace, and planted a grateful kiss on her upturned lips. "I knew you'd come after me," he said.

Her blue eyes widened. "You did?"

"You think I would have walked away otherwise? You're the love of my life, English." Ardor roughened his voice. "We belong together."

Tears of joy brimmed in her eyes. "I know," she told him simply.

"How the hell did you get here so fast?" he wanted to know.

Emma cast a wry glance at her sister, who hung back with a smug expression on her face. "Juliet got the public affairs officer to give us a ride on his private plane."

"Ah." That was why Emma looked so harried. She also looked like she'd keel over if he so much as blew on her. "Why don't we collect your luggage and find a hotel so you all can sleep. You look exhausted."

She hugged him again, dropped her head on his shoulder, and heaved a deep sigh. "I love you, Jeremiah Winters," she whispered. "I'll never send you away again, I promise."

He kissed the top of her head. "I'll never give you a reason to."

* * *

An hour later, Emma heaved a deep, contented sigh and snuggled closer to Jeremiah's naked body. "This is heaven," she whispered.

He hummed his agreement.

They'd found a hotel just outside of the port area. Juliet had pulled Sammy into a room of their own by convincing her that her mom and Jeremiah had much to discuss about their future as a family.

Indeed, Emma and Jeremiah had communicated extensively, only they had let their bodies do most of the talking. Luxuriating in the accommodations—so different from the first and only time they'd made love—they'd given full expression to the passion they'd both harbored from the start.

Never in her adult life had Emma ever known lovemaking so pure and satisfying. She couldn't wait to do it again—perhaps in the morning when they first woke up? But, for now, she needed sleep.

She had just about submerged into an unconscious state when she heard Jeremiah's low voice close to her ear: "You will marry me, won't you, English?"

A latent jolt of energy allowed her to crack open her eyelids to peer at him. "Is that a premonition?" Could the man see the two of them walking down the aisle?

"I think it's a proposal," he replied, laughter and love sparkling behind his eyes. "But maybe I should wait until I have a ring to give you—assuming you'd say, yes."

Happiness bloomed inside of her. "You don't need to wait," she assured him, turning her body to face him.

He sat up slowly, propping himself on an elbow and searching her sleepy visage.

Gazing deep into his tapered, hazel eyes, she basked in the miracle of their unbreakable bond. "From the day you first came into my office asking questions, I've been yours," she admitted.

"Then you do believe in soul mates," he said, grinning in the same youthful manner that brought a dimple to one cheek.

"Yes, I do," she confirmed. "And I will."

Epilogue