The One Worth Waiting For (21 page)

Her fingers beat a hasty retreat up to his chest and lay there in agonizing wait. At any second, she expected to feel his hand abruptly grasp her hip, or perhaps hear his gravelly voice rumble in her ear, “Don’t you ever finish what you start, sweetheart?”

Maybe he was just waiting and, the minute she actually rolled away, he would grab her in a viselike grip and make fierce, passionate love to her until she melted into the sheets all over again.

Jeez, would he ever wake up?

The paradox of these thoughts didn’t escape her, and a feeling of desolation swept through her. She didn’t want one moment, damn it. She wanted dozens of moments, hundreds of moments. She wanted to wake up knowing she would wake up like this again and again and again.

He’d gotten to her last night. He’d showed her worlds she hadn’t known even existed. And waking up in his arms like this…She’d never meant for him to get this close. She’d never meant to fall for Garret Guiness all over again.

She curled her hand into a fist and forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath. Then carefully, not daring to even look at his face, she crawled out of bed, picked up her clothes and left.

Garret found her out in the driveway two hours later, his eyes blinking owlishly against the bright sun. His shirt hung open, his jeans still unsnapped and his feet bare, as he walked out the front door.

For a moment he simply looked at her, armed with a crescent wrench and wearing old gray sweatpants with an oversize white T-shirt already streaked with grease and other older stains. She glanced over at the sound of the door opening, but didn’t stop working on the exposed engine of her Ford.

“Car trouble?” he asked, his voice still raspy with sleep.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” she replied crisply, still bent over the engine. “Someone could see you.”

He looked out at the empty road before him and the trees on all sides. “There’s plenty of time to return to the house at the sound of a car.” He walked down the porch steps to the driveway. “You got up early this morning.”

“I always get up early.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough.”

“I didn’t hog the covers? I didn’t snore?”

“No. Could you hand me that screwdriver over there?”

He turned his head to see an open red tool case on the grass. Telling himself he wasn’t disappointed, he retrieved a large screwdriver and handed it to her. As she bent under the hood, he could see the shapely outline of her butt through the soft fabric of her worn sweats. He grinned to himself, feeling better.

“Need some help?” he asked at last.

“No.”

“What seems to be the problem?”

She glanced over sharply, looking at him directly for the first time. “You’re in my light.” Unperturbed, he reached over and wiped a smudge of dirt from her soft cheek. He didn’t start frowning until she flinched at the gesture. “Please, Garret. I’ve got to get this fixed.”

He stepped back, feeling a tightness in his stomach as she returned to her work. He didn’t like waking up this morning and finding her already gone. Never mind that he’d done that a time or two himself. Never mind that he should be grateful she was handling this so well.

Whatever he wanted, this wasn’t it.

“What seems to be the problem?” he tried again, pleased by the reasonableness of his voice.

She banged against something with the wrench and muttered a curse that sounded suspiciously like “tuna fish.” “Won’t start,” she said more clearly. She straightened up, wiping her hands on her old gardening T-shirt, and glared at her car. “I’ve had problems getting it to turn over lately, so I guess I should have known.”

“Sounds like the solenoid switch or the starter. Maybe I can help.”

She turned to him, her face set. “I don’t need your help, Garret. In fact, I just examined the solenoid switch and it happens to be fine. Now, I’m going to take out the starter and give it a look. I’ve been keeping this thing running for quite a few years all by myself, thank you.”

He looked at her for a long, hard moment, his own dark eyes beginning to spark. “Since when is it a crime to offer assistance, Suzanne?”

“I can take care of it myself.”

“I’m not disputing that.”

“I don’t need you, Garret.”

“Sweetheart, that wasn’t what you were feeling last night.”

Her jaw opened, her eyes widening and her cheeks flaring a brilliant, furious red. “You…you…” She took a deep breath, then her eyes narrowed dangerously. “But we’re not in the bedroom anymore, are we, Garret?”

He stiffened, not liking how sharply her words struck. Muttering an oath under his breath he snatched the tool from her hand. The silvery metal flashed in the sun, and just as he was about to say something else, his eyes caught the gleam and abruptly he stilled.

* * *

The fire in the sky…

It had taken them four hours to pile the bodies together. Four hours to find family and loved ones and heap their remains on top of the other. Then Zlatko stood, his massive shoulders straight, his eyes expressionless. He lit the torch and touched it to the funeral pyre.

And the men who’d spent their days fighting fire now let the flames carry their loved ones away.

He’d never seen flames burn so brightly as that afternoon, and the crackling of the branches sounded to him like weeping. The wood at least mourned. The men simply watched and were silent.

No one talked that night. No one gathered around the campfire to swap tales of the latest adventure. No one told stories of other times and other places. There wasn’t even the heated sound of arguments from people who’d been cooped up in the little camp for too long.

They all just sat on toppled logs, enveloped in grief and rage, drifting helplessly without anchor. Finally, Zlatko stood in the middle of the camp. His eyes burning on Garret, he drew them all together.

“There must be vengeance for this crime. There must be retribution.

Tonight…Something must happen tonight…”

“Garret! Garret!”

He blinked rapidly, his eyes coming into focus to find Suzanne staring at him with concern. A frown crinkled her brow, and she looked at him intently.

“You remembered something?”

He simply nodded, still wading through the depths of his mind.

“Something useful?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I think.” He looked at the car, blinking several more times. He was still gripping the crescent wrench and he had Suzanne pinned against the car. Belatedly, he took a step back.

“Are you leaving?” she asked straightaway, her chin coming up.

He just looked at her.

“I want to know when you go. I want you to tell me.”

He shook his head, his own thoughts not keeping pace with hers. “I’m not going,” he said at last. “I still don’t understand…”

His voice trailed off and he squinted his eyes as if that would help him see the past more clearly. The slaughter, the funeral pyre. He understood quite clearly that he fought fires, though he didn’t understand when he’d stopped being a SEAL. Still, he trained and led the men to fight the flames, until that one day when they’d returned to find the camp destroyed. And they’d built the funeral pyre, watched the flames soar to the sky. And then…and then…

He swore, and hurtled the wrench to the ground, where it jumped and clattered. Slowly, Suzanne bent down and retrieved the tool.

“You’re almost there, Garret,” she said softly. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”
You don’t have to be that anxious to leave.

“I just want to know,” he said, his voice taut. He began to pace out a restless circle on the driveway. “Everything went so badly. Was it my fault? Did I do something that got those people killed? What the hell went wrong and what did I do? Suzanne, what happened?”

She looked at him helplessly, only able to shake her head. “I’m sure whatever happened, you did the best you could,” she supplied weakly. He merely glared at her.

“People died, Suzanne. Women and children. And I can’t even remember enough to know why. I see it happening in my mind over and over again. Maybe I don’t have amnesia at all. Maybe I did crack up.”

“Dr. Jacobs said you just needed time.”

“Yeah, well, Dr. Jacobs isn’t the one dreaming of redflowing rivers.” He ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes for a long moment.

In front of him, Suzanne twisted the wrench in her hand. “Maybe you shouldn’t try so hard,” she said at last. “Maybe it will come to you just like it did now.”

He nodded and glanced at the wrench in her hand. Slowly, his gaze came to rest on her face. She didn’t look angry anymore. If anything, she seemed concerned about him. Without questioning the instinct, he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.

He buried his face against her neck, breathing in the soft scent of roses. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stroked his silky black hair. A shudder trembled through his strong frame, and he pressed his lips against her neck. He needed the feel of her softness pressed against him; he needed to feel her close and know that at least here, there was shelter from the storm.

He held her even tighter and closed his eyes.

Then, just as unexpectedly, he pulled away, looking out at the distant horizon and all the things he couldn’t see. His gaze settled back on her face, and he tried to ignore the sudden sheen in her eyes and the ache in his own chest.

“Maybe I can get that starter out,” he said gruffly.

She nodded and handed him the wrench. Without another word, he bent down and crawled beneath the car.

When Cagney pulled into the driveway six hours later, the car was gone. Frowning to himself, he walked through the house, searching for signs of Garret. Just as he was beginning to get worried, he stepped onto the back porch and heard sounds of clanking from the shed.

After glancing idly at the new table sitting on the porch, he walked down the steps to the workshop. “Garret, it’s Cagney. Open up.”

The clattering suddenly stopped. He heard a muffled oath and then the door was pushed open. Garret’s rumpled head appeared, his eyes blinking owlishly at the bright daylight.

“Something happened?” he asked curtly.

Cagney shrugged. “Nothing really happened. But I just got off the phone with my old partner from D.C.”

Garret nodded and let Cagney in.

As the door closed behind them, Cagney also found himself blinking to adjust to the dim light in the shed. He glanced around. For all intents and purposes, Garret appeared to be packing up the tools.

“Leaving?” he asked sharply.

“I don’t know,” Garret said levelly. “You tell me.”

Cagney leaned against one wall and folded his arms across his chest. “Couple things,” he started to say, keeping his voice curt enough to match his brother’s. Even as he listened, Garret was packing up more equipment. “I actually called Melissa nearly a week ago, wanting to get more information about the shooting in D.C. and ask her to be on the lookout for anything strange. Well, it took a bit of doing, but just two days ago, officers were called by some neighbors to report a possible break-in. Window broken, but best they could tell, nothing stolen. It was Mitch’s house, Garret. And I had Melissa check it out. There was another note there, addressed to you.”

Garret stiffened, his hand momentarily stilling over an assortment of sandpaper. He forced himself to pick up the sheets and add them to the box. “And?”

“Same words as the note at Mom and Dad’s.”

Garret nodded. “They don’t know where I am.”

Cagney nodded back. “Exactly. Looks like someone is leaving the notes in all the logical places, trying to draw you out. Do you know what it means yet?”

Garret began to slowly wind up a long extension cord. “Yes. No.” He shrugged his shoulders, keeping his eyes on the thick orange cord. “I think I was in Sarajevo, working as a fire fighter. Something happened…the camp was destroyed. I don’t remember much after that.”

“What does that have to do with D.C.?”

“Well, there you go, brother—the million-dollar question.”

“Melissa had some details on the shooting,” Cagney said quietly.

Garret looked up, his eyes suddenly wary.

“They have you down as a John Doe, but it’s in the files because there were two witnesses who called the ambulance. Of course, your pulling a gun on the ambulance attendants also made quite an impression.”

“Yeah, well, we all have our charm.”

“Witnesses said the shot came from up high. Police couldn’t find any shells, but on the roof of one of the buildings, there was a small pile of fresh cigarette butts. From that height and distance, we’re talking at least a highpowered rifle. Melissa says it looks like a professional job.”

“Professional job?”

“Yeah, Garret. A hit man. And the police aren’t the only ones interested. The navy just demanded copies of the reports, and all of a sudden, they’re taking care of the matter. Mom’s already gotten two calls from navy officers trying to track you down.”

“Has she said anything?” Garret asked sharply.

“Of course not,” Cagney snapped back. “This is Mom we’re talking about. But she’s damn worried about you. And at this point, I don’t blame her. A hit man, Garret? Just who the hell did you tick off?”

Garret clenched and unclenched his hands restlessly. “I don’t know,” he growled at last. “I just don’t know.”

Cagney watched his older brother for a minute longer, feeling his own tension growing. He was worried, damn it. And he wasn’t used to being worried about Garret. The past two nights he’d remained awake with his fiancée Marina, pacing the abandoned lot while she continued painting the huge warehouse wall. While she might be capable of maintaining her strange sleeping schedule, it was beginning to take its toll on him.

Finally, Cagney sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, the good news is, no one seems to know where you are yet.”

“Yet,” Garret emphasized. He finished wrapping the extension cord and threw it into the box without looking at it. He paced the room a few more times. “Simple process of elimination,” he said shortly. “They’ll keep checking and narrowing down the possibilities. Let’s see, if I were them, I’d check my place, then Mitch’s, then local hospitals. Airports, as well.”