Make Mine a Marine (70 page)

"Drew?" Lying flat on the mattress in case he lashed out again, Emma studied him. His chest rose and fell in a rapid rhythm. His skin glistened with sweat. She reached out and grazed her fingers along his flank. "Are you all right?"

"Get out." His terse whisper was more of a vibration than a sound.

She climbed up on her hands and knees, trying to make eye contact. "You were having a nightmare."

"I said get out!"

She scrambled back on her haunches, avoiding the sudden movement of his shoulder as he turned on her. A brief memory of her father's harsh commands made her hug her arms around herself. But she cried out for a different reason altogether.

The lamp light revealed a shiny pattern of scars that mottled his torso and disappeared beneath the furry patch of golden hair at the center of his chest. The blotches of scar tissue curved up over his right shoulder, and veed beneath the waistband of his black pants. "Oh, my God. Drew."

In a heartbeat the rage left him. "Em, I'm sorry."

He rolled off the opposite side of the bed quicker than she could catch a steadying breath. By the time she got to her feet, he was halfway down the stairs. She leaned over the railing and watched him disappear into the kitchen. The back door opened and closed.

Barefoot, bare-chested, he'd gone out into the wintry night.

God, how he must have suffered both physical pain and mental anguish, according to those scars. And yet he'd survived. He'd pieced together a life for himself and kept going. And somewhere along his hellish journey, he’d found time to rescue little girls and make big girls turn to him for safety and support.

Giving him time to work through his nightmare, giving herself time to decide what to do, she checked on Kerry. Then she returned to pull the blanket from his bed and went down the stairs after him.

After slipping her coat over her shoulders, Emma followed him outside onto the back porch. He stood like an ancient Eastern warrior, his legs braced apart, hands fisted at his hips, eyes tipped up to the fading light of the moon.

His long hair caught on the breeze and danced around his chiseled jaw. He held himself with such strength, such heartbreaking, solitary strength.

She inhaled the crisp air and caught the scent of him. Strong, yes, but still very human. "It's not even thirty degrees outside tonight."

His face showed no reaction. "I didn't scare Kerry, did I?"

Emma gentled her voice, wanting him to hear her strength and reassurance even if he would not see it. "No. She's sound asleep."

"I'm sorry I woke you." Again he put someone else’s needs before his own.

"I'm glad you did."

"Why?" He gave a derisive laugh and glanced over his shoulder, finally looking at her and revealing the deep lines of fatigue and regret at his eyes and mouth. "So you could share my nightmare? Don't you have enough bad memories without adding mine on top?"

She simply smiled and let his self-loathing run its course. "Here." She draped the blanket around his shoulders. She arched an eyebrow when he started to shrug it off. "Humor me."

She moved behind him and held the blanket there herself. He flinched at her touch, but didn't pull away. Standing as tall as his shoulder, she turned her head and leaned into him, resting her cheek against his back. He held himself rigid beneath her embrace. As if he had no right to accept her comfort.

She apologized for making him think that way.

She stepped closer, aligning her body to his, exchanging warmth, trading understanding. They stood together in silence for several minutes until he shuddered. It started at his shoulders, moved down through his back and into his legs. In that instant, he relaxed his guard, and she wound her arms around his shoulders, hugging him from behind.

Now that she had broken through the distance that separated them, she dared to smile. "You'll catch cold out here. Come inside."

He laid his hand over hers near the base of his throat. "No, it feels good. Seems like I can never wake up enough to make the nightmare go away."

"The one I'm in?"

"Oh, lady, there's nothing nightmarish about you in my dreams." He pulled her hands away and turned, his voice and expression immediately contrite. "Sorry. Seems to be a habit I can't break."

Emma noticed he still held her hands. Elegant muscle and sinewed strength. She liked the feel of his hands, a rasp of sensation across her softer skin. The same way his husky voice emphasized the differences between them. She was actually getting used to the sound of "lady" in that deep, gravelly timbre.

She looked up into his eyes and smiled. "You have enough to think about. As long as you're not calling me ‘Iron Maiden’, I don't mind. Not really."

He reached up and stroked her cheek, the essence of a smile on his face. "You are one class act. A real lady every step of the way. Just because you're tenacious and have crackerjack business sense doesn't mean you're not sexy and pretty and
…" He dropped his hand and looked away, retreating from the unspoken territory where she'd asked him not to trespass.

His compliment warmed her all the same. She crossed her arms and looked at him with amused suspicion. "Are you the reason Wyatt Carlisle shaped up after lunch?"

"He minded his manners then, didn't he?"

"Yes. But I'm still not buying his company. I made that decision even before you told me about Moriarty's check. I prefer to do business with a man of integrity."

"Good. I don't want you messing with the likes of Carlisle."

Their shared smiles lightened the atmosphere surrounding them. The eerie quality that made his eyes gleam like emeralds returned, reassuring her that he had recovered from the terror of his dreams.

Maybe now it was safe to ask. "What happened to you? How did you get burned?"

He shrugged, as if having cheated death was no big deal. "I don't remember. The doctors said the pattern of damaged tissue and the severity of the burns indicate an explosion. They said it was a miracle I survived. Shrapnel that close to the heart should have killed me."

It would be a tragedy if anything happened to this man's big, open heart. Though his methods might be a bit nontraditional, he felt things and expressed his caring in ways she was only beginning to understand. "Well, I for one am glad you survived. And I can think of at least one other lady who's glad you're here, too."

Drew smiled like a doting uncle. And she knew he would be fine. "Kerry's a pistol, all right."

The distant chime of the doorbell interrupted their rare camaraderie. Drew opened the French doors and followed Emma inside. He shed the blanket and quickened his pace, reaching the door first and peeking through the peephole. The wary set of his shoulders eased a fraction as he turned to her.

"It's Maxwell. What does he want at this time of night?"

With a frown of curiosity, she stepped around him and opened the door. Brodie's gray gaze settled on her, then moved beyond her, turning to ice as he took in the half-dressed Drew.

"What's wrong?" She asked the question before Brodie could make any comment that would force her to defend Drew.

He stepped inside without shutting the door. "Stan Begosian's body has turned up. He's parked in a car outside LadyTech."

"His body?  Oh, my God." She felt the strengthening grip of Drew's hand on her shoulder. "Won't the police take care of it?"

Brodie nodded. "They're already there. I brought BJ with me. She'll stay with Kerry." He paused a moment, frightening her more than she cared to admit. His glance included Drew. "But I think you'd both better come see this."

Chapter Ten

Help me, Emma.

I tried to reach you in the only way I can. By computer. I smuggled a disk out with some of Moriarty's files. But he's discovered my trick. I've been a prisoner for too long, forced to work for a man I despise.

Please help me.

That handwritten note in Jonathan's strong, familiar scrawl was stapled to another message, neatly typed and much more ominous.

My dear Mrs. Ramsey:

I have valued your husband's assistance these past few years. But I find him harder to control by the day. For the lion's share of LadyTech, Mrs. Ramsey, I'll send him home in one fairly healthy piece.

If not, I'll send him home in pieces.

Await my call on February 1st.

James Moriarty

For the umpteenth time that day, Emma reread the ransom note that had been pinned to poor Stan Begosian's coat.

"Three days?" With the plastic-sheathed paper already dusted and devoid of fingerprints, she crumpled it in her fist and tossed it onto her desk. The chestnut-haired man sitting there, Kelton Murphy, unfolded the note and smoothed it out flat. She raked her fingers through her hair, nearly mindless with frustration. "Why wait three days?"

Although it had been a rhetorical question, Kel answered her, anyway. "He knows it takes a while to arrange a stock transfer. He's giving you time to meet his demands."

"I can't change that much stock through normal channels in three days." She paced to the window and looked outside, feeling like a caged guard dog, wanting to lash out to protect what was her own, and going mad because she couldn't. "He might as well have demanded it on the spot, and not given us any time to help Jonathan."

She sucked in her breath and cringed at her ashen reflection in the window. "I didn't mean that."

Brodie crossed the room and squeezed her arm in a show of support. "We know, Em. Remember, Jas and BJ have agreed to turn over whatever part of their stock is necessary to give you fifty-one percent. All we need is a legal document to bind the transfer. If Moriarty wants real stock certificates, he'll just have to wait."

"You're not really going to pay that bastard's ransom, are you?" A third man, Rafe Del Rio, with dark brown hair and mischievous eyes, rolled to his feet from the nearest loveseat. "He stole five years of your life, and the best man I ever served with. If anything, he owes you."

A fourth man, a big, broad-shouldered Native American named Hawk Echohawk, stood quietly to one side. "Emma, are you sure this ransom note is legitimate?" he asked.

She turned slowly, studying each of her guests as her gaze passed by. These were the men Jonathan had served with. His hand-picked team of experts. His closest friends.

They were quite possibly the only people in the world who could truly understand what losing Jonathan felt like to her. She had no desire to give them false hope, but then she believed with all her heart that Drew Gallagher had made this happen. He'd done his homework. He'd butted heads. His closing in on James Moriarty was what had made this happen.

"It's legit."

If poor, misguided Stan hadn't been sacrificed as the bearer of Moriarty's message, she had no doubt that the criminal would have contacted her in another way. Through the club at Lucky's. Or through Wyatt Carlisle.

Kel Murphy, as usual, regrouped and kept them all on track. "So what is it you want us to do?" he asked.

Area law enforcement, in coordination with Interpol, had tapped her phones at home and work, and set up a system to monitor her cell phone. Their aim was to trace the kidnapper back to his international lair and put him out of commission without giving him anything he wanted. Emma didn't like the idea of gambling with her husband's life. She didn't like gambling with her friends' futures, either. "I don't want Jas and BJ to sacrifice what they've worked so hard for."

"Tell them that," reminded Brodie. "They offered."

"I know." The unfailing friendship of her two college roommates turned business partners had proved a blessing many times over. She knew they'd help her in any way she asked. But right now, what she needed most were their prayers and support—and a round-the-clock friend to stay with Kerry. Jas had cut short her West Coast trip and flown back to stay with Kerry and Katie Maxwell while Brodie and BJ helped Emma.

"They won't have to give up anything." Emma breathed in deeply, still coming to terms with the brief suggestion that Drew had made to her earlier. "I'm not going to pay the ransom."

"Good girl." Rafe's bright voice carried above the instant discussion that Emma's statement aroused.

Kel's gruff admonition silenced them all. "I don't think she's doing it to please you."

Rafe threw up his hands and stalked to the desk. "Well, think about it, smart guy. If Moriarty wanted to exchange the colonel for control of LadyTech, why didn't he contact Em sooner?"

Kel's deadpan seriousness had long been a contrast to Rafe's effusive demeanor. "My concern is, what would he want to use the colonel for? Why keep him this long?"

"We know Jonathan is not trading state secrets. He'd die before betraying his country."

"Rafe." Brodie's sharp rebuke ended their bickering.

"Sorry, Em." Rafe and Kel apologized in unison.

Hugging her arms together, she shrugged, conceding their point. "No, you're right. Jonathan's a patriot. I think Moriarty's a common criminal, not some spy or terrorist."

Kel pointed out the obvious. "You can sell info to unfriendly countries for big bucks."

Brodie contradicted the argument. "He's been out of commission for five years. They'd want current information. I think she's right. Whatever he's using Jonathan for has to do with money, not politics."

Emma raised her voice. "None of that's important now. We just need to bring him home."

At that moment, the door opened. BJ walked in with a handful of computer printouts. Drew followed a step behind. The room fell silent when he paused in the doorway. Tall, bronzed, and needing a shave from his full night's work, he drew Emma's gaze like a beacon. Behind his glasses, his weary eyes gleamed with intelligence and confidence.

She'd pinned her hopes on this man. She prayed he was about to deliver.

He swept his gaze around the room, taking in the four unique, powerful men who eyed him with curiosity and suspicion. When he looked at her, he smiled. Emma's heart took on new life and beat with a quicker tempo at the silent reassurance.

But the smile quickly vanished. He closed the door and aimed a glance at Brodie. "So this is the inquisition you promised me."

BJ frowned up at her husband. "What's he talking about?"

Drew took the papers from her and crossed to the coffee table. "It's okay, Beej. He's only trying to protect you from the bad guys."

"Well, when I see one, I'll let him know, okay?"

She followed Drew to the table and helped clear away coffee cups. He spread out the papers as Emma and the others gathered around.

"What did you find?" Emma slipped in at Drew's right and touched his elbow, impatient for answers when she sensed they were so close to finding them.

Drew covered her hand where it rested on his arm, giving her a squeeze that lasted just long enough for her to sense the questioning looks of the four other men. He released her without apology or explanation and leaned over the table. "With help I think we broke a code in Moriarty's diary, which we now know was penned by Jonathan. It's a map. If you follow the place names like compass points, and interpret the dates as latitude and longitude, it pinpoints the spot where I believe he's being held."

"And the usefulness of that knowledge is…?" Kel questioned.

Brodie crossed his arms, flexing his shoulders and creating an imposing silhouette. "This is the P.I. I was talking about. Drew Gallagher. He's got some theories that may or may not hold water."

Emma bristled at the underlying skepticism in her friend's tone. She doubted that Drew could miss the subtle challenge to prove himself, but she silently applauded him for not rising to the thinly veiled taunt.

If anything, he seemed to relax, taking command of the room by refusing to be baited. "We have a three-day window of opportunity before Moriarty claims his payoff."

Rafe bent over the papers and studied the numbers more closely. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?"

Drew hooked his thumbs into his pockets and lay down a challenge of his own. "I don't know. Are you guys as good as Emma says?"

She looked at each man around the table. "I know you have lives of your own. But…"

Rafe grinned. His smile was charming, but his eyes were hard as steel. "Em, if you want us to go down and get him, say the word."

Kel's acceptance was a bit more cautious. He looked at Drew. "You're sure this man has the colonel? We've been on wild goose chases before."

She felt Drew's attention turn to her. She tilted her head, questioning his stark look. But those gem eyes shuttered before she could decipher their meaning. He answered Kel with that supreme confidence of his. "I know where Jonathan Ramsey is."

"Then count me in," Kel volunteered.  “I can supply you with or make arrangements for whatever you need.”

Hawk had always been an enigma to Emma, a gentle man with strange powers she didn't understand. "These coordinates put us on Isla Tenebrosa. I've been there recently. Jonathan was not there.  Or else I would have sensed him."

Drew looked at Hawk, then looked again, as if recalling something for an instant, and then dismissing it just as quickly. She recognized the quick expansion of his chest as a calming technique. Whatever thought had crossed his mind must have disturbed him.

"Drew?" She counted on him to see this through. But if he had any doubts, she didn't want to be responsible for putting any one of these men in danger.

But he shook off both her concern and his own to answer Hawk. "Actually, I believe Moriarty has a villa on a small island off Tenebrosa. It's more of an atoll really. It's not on any proper map. Of course, I don't know exactly where it is on the island, or what kind of security and manpower he has in place."

Hawk simply nodded, apparently satisfied. "Get me on the island and I’ll find out what we’re up against."

"Maxwell?"

Emma looked to the big man. She swallowed her words of regret when she saw BJ curl her arm through his, offering her husband her love and support in his decision.

The two exchanged a meaningful glance before he spoke. "I wasn't there when the colonel disappeared. But I'm damn straight gonna see that he comes home."

"Thank you," Emma whispered, her gratitude going out to both Brodie and BJ.

Drew nodded. "I'll go with you to coordinate the rescue. I seem to have made myself an expert on this Moriarty." He made a point of engaging each man's eyes before leaving. "I'll draw up a timetable and get back to you as soon as I have the details."

As he turned, he took Emma by the elbow and guided her to the door with him. He bent his head to whisper out of earshot. "I'll bring him home to you, Em. Just like I promised."

She conquered the urge to wrap him up in a hug.

He seemed so alone. A man with only his nightmares to keep him company. Even with everyone signing on to his plan, he seemed somehow alone. "I'm sorry about them," she began, noting that her friends were even now giving them anxious glances.

He shushed her with a gentle brush of his fingers across her cheek. "Don't apologize. I've faced tougher crowds."

"But if you have to depend on each other—"

"It's okay." He smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear, purposely ignoring the curious looks that she could not. "They wouldn't worry about me if they didn't love you so much. I find it reassuring to know that they'll be around to take care of you when I'm not."

A fist of panic seized her. "What do you mean?"

"Em."

With the hesitant whisper of her name, she understood. She wouldn't see him again after the mission. If it was a success, Jonathan would be back in her life, and this man who said he loved her would have no rightful place in it. And if the mission wasn't a success...

The fist tightened.

"You be careful," she demanded. It had never occurred to her that her heart might break twice, losing both good men in her life.

He bent his head to whisper into her ear. "Don't worry, lady." The nickname sounded like an endearment. She absorbed its caress without a trace of remorse. "Andrew Gallagher always lands on his feet."

And then he was gone and the door had closed behind him. She hugged herself tightly, trying to keep an overwhelming sense of impending doom at bay. Once Drew left, the others grew animated again.

She heard Rafe's voice first. "Seems like old times. I'm still earning a living at this. But are you boys ready for action?"

Kel's skeptical voice came next. "Are we sure he's on the up-and-up? Can we trust his intel?"

Hawk answered. "I didn't sense any subterfuge in him. He's genuinely trying to help Emma."

"We all are." That was Brodie, still sounding dubious about Drew.