Yesterday (3 page)

Terrorist Munitions Warehouse

Blake had never known such pain. It was horrendous, agonizing. He couldn t move, his bones, muscles, every cell in his body felt paralyzed as the gut wrenching pain tore through him.

Heat seared him, waves of it rolling over his body as the screams and shouted orders faded into the distance. They had been ambushed. A mission that was supposed to have went so smoothly had somehow went horribly wrong and he knew he would pay for it with his life.

He fought for breath, for strength. Just a little strength. Enough to claw his way out of the burning wreckage and fight to find safety. He couldn t die like this. He couldn t let it all end here in this hellhole, at the mercy of the enemy who was known for a lack of mercy.

He couldn t allow all the dreams he had fought so hard for, be taken from him like this.

Anna s face shimmered in his mind. Innocent. Her eyes sparkling with hope, with love.

He had taken her before he left. Had loved her well into the night, given her his heart and his soul. He had to get home to Anna. He had promised her. He couldn t break his promise to Anna.

His fingers dug into the sand, a strangled groan tearing from his throat as he began to pull himself away from the burning vehicle. He could hear the others shouting, guns blazing.

The unit wouldn t go down easy. They would have to kill them all first. If just one man could still hold a gun, then they were all fighting.

His eyes were useless. He couldn t see for the blood and grit covering them. The more he tried to wipe away, the more that flowed into them. Piercing shards of needles bit into them as he fought to make sense of the blurring outline of the area. Where those the men of his unit or the enemy running around like twisting shadows?

He struggled to make sense of the confusion around him. The explosions, the blasts of automatic weapons, the screams of the dead and dying and prayed for a miracle.

He wanted to return home Anna. He wanted to lie beside her, feel the silk of her flesh, know she was his. A man with no family except a missing brother, an orphan, a man who invented his own name, his own life. He wanted his woman.

He couldn t ignore the pain raging through his body, the weakness of blood loss and the shock he could feel overtaking him, but he would be damned if he would give into it. He had fought too long. Too hard. Those fucking dreams were his! He deserved them.

His growl was one of feral intent, distantly surprising him with the strength of it as he pulled himself across the desert sand toward the direction he prayed was one of safety.

He would get out of this, he told himself fiercely, refusing to believe anything less. He would get out, heal and go home to Anna. Where he belonged.

United States

One Week Later

Nerves trembled through Anna s body as she finished the preparations for the coming home dinner she had planned for Blake. She glanced at the small brass clock hanging over the sink, marveling once again at the delicate rose pattern of the ceramic tile between the top of the sink cabinet and the oak paneled cabinets above.

The effect of hardwoods, and carefully blended areas of softer themes played out through the rest of the house as well. As though Blake had carefully coordinated his home to be filled with warmth and laughter.

There were no family pictures, no photos of the family she still knew nothing of. There were pictures of him though. Pictures of the men he fought with and the different areas of the world he had been in. And through it all, Anna had detected a vein of sadness. As though something significant was missing in Blake s life. Something she wanted, needed to fill.

Filling his home while he was gone this week hadn t been free of problems though. Her parents were furious with her. Her mother had cried. Her father had stared at her as though she had wounded him to his soul.

If I wanted a homeless waif for a son I would have adopted one, Anna, he had snapped when she informed him that she would be marrying Blake when he returned. The boy has no family. No kin. Nothing.

But I do, daddy, she had whispered solemnly. I know you re angry, but I love you.

And I love Blake. Can t you just try to love him?

In the end, she had worn them down. They didn t like her living at Blake s until his return, but she had promised him. And it was where she wanted to be.

She slipped two delicate roses, cut from the wild rose bushes growing along the fence row outside when she heard the door bell ring. She glanced at the clock again. Blake was late, but surely he wouldn t be ringing his own doorbell?

She smoothed her hands down the slim skirt of her linen dress as she moved quickly from the kitchen along the short hall that led to the entry way. Her slender heels clicked on the hardwood floor, the scent of roses and pine following her.

She swung the door open, frowning at the tall, distinguished gentleman on her doorstop.

He was dressed in a white military uniform. Medals hanging from his chest, his expression somber.

I m sorry, Blake isn t home yet. She shook her head, wondering why the Army would be looking for him. Surely they knew where he was.

Behind him, two other s could be seen, dressed in white as well, their expressions drawn.

She ignored the tightening in her chest then, a sense of premonition that flowed over her, sucking the oxygen from the air around her.

Miss Danvers. The older man nodded his head solemnly. I m Commander Tyler Ridgeway, Major Morgan s superior officer

He s not here right now. She shook her head desperately, hating the pitying look in his eyes. He promised he would be home tonight. She took a hard, deep breath. I m sure he ll be tired. You should come back tomorrow.

Ms. Danvers. May we come in? We need to talk to you.

Anna looked beyond them. It was summer. The sun was gentling into the shadows of early evening, casting delicate shadows over the front lawn. The grass needed cut. Blake would do that after he was home a day or two. She had imagined watching him on that big riding mower he had in the garage, shirtless, a grin on his face, the smell of fresh grass in the air. Butterflies weaved delicately among the wildflowers growing at the edge of the woods as a rabbit zipped among the underbrush.

He s not coming home. Is he? She felt something break apart inside her chest. A piercing pain she had never known before streaking through her body.

I m sorry, Ms. Danvers. Commander Ridgeway said gently. Major Morgan Blake. She swallowed tightly. His name is Blake.

There was a tense silence following her words. Blake, was killed in action three days ago. I m sorry. He won t be back.

She wouldn t look at them. She could feel the three men watching her expectantly.

His last wishes to me, were if anything happened to him, that I make certain you were provided for until you marry or decide to leave the house on your own. An allowance, the farm

Go away. She stepped back to close the door.

Ms. Danvers. There was no stopping his entrance into the house. I understand this is all very shocking to you. When you re ready to talk He handed her a card.

Anna accepted the stiff piece of paper automatically, staring down at the printed name and number.

The house is yours, unless you decide to leave or to marry. Those were Blake s wishes, written out and witnessed by me before the mission. I ll contact his lawyer and when you re ready to talk. Please call me.

She nodded. Ready to talk? She didn t want to talk. She wanted to scream, to rage. She wanted to know why fate had ripped her dreams apart so cruelly. She wanted to know why Blake couldn t come home

They left. Three men dressed in angels white, leaving the small porch in slow steps, heads lowered as Anna stared down at the paper. Blake was gone.

Three Days Later

Bethesda Naval Hospital

She ll be okay. She signed the papers, but it wasn t the house she wanted. She s a pretty little girl. Commander Ridgeway sighed heavily as he stared at the bed-ridden patient.

Blake s face was still heavily bandaged, the facial scars from the shattering of the transports windows and yesterdays surgery would take a while to heal. He would never look the same. Even the young woman who had been waiting for him wouldn t recognize him when the reconstructive surgeries were complete. But all in all, that would be a blessing. His enemies knew what he looked like. Knew his face and his name. His protection and any one he cared about, lay in the lie that he had died in the hell hole they had barely rescued him from.

You didn t make her cry? The voice was hoarse, tight with pain.

We didn t make her cry, Blake. She was very strong. A real lady, son. You would have been proud of her.

She had cried. Endlessly. Brokenly. The papers she had signed were strained with her tears. Her parents had stood behind her, her mother fighting her own tears, her father watching helplessly.

She s strong. Blake whispered.

She is at that. Ridgeway shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Docs say six months and you ll be free. We ll have the specifics on all this by then. The rest of the unit is healing, hiding. You re all presumed dead in that blast until we capture Demorga. A year tops, and you should be home again.

Silence met his words. Blake had been the most heavily wounded. The forceful impact of the explosion into the window of his transport vehicle had sliced his face to ribbons..

Even with reconstructive surgery, there would be scars. And changes. The face he had always known as his own would never be his again.

Blake was silent.

Blake. Is there anything you need? Ridgeway could barely stand the silence. He could only imagine the pain, the doubts going through the boys mind.

Hell, his discharge had been approved right before the mission. Rather than leaving them a man short, or working with an unfamiliar replacement, he had agreed to go in to help capture the gun running bastard supplying terrorists with weapons. It was supposed to be easy. But Demorga had been waiting on them.

I m fine Commander. Blake s voice was rough, but controlled.

Ridgeway sighed heavily. I ll let you rest now son. You get better. We ll keep an eye on your girl, just like I promised. You just get better.

He had to get better. Demorga may know exactly who the men of the small unit were, but what Blake knew was even more important. He had seen Demorga himself. No one else had. Intelligence on the bastard was scarce, and pictures, as far as they knew, were non-existent. But Blake had seen him. Could identify him. For that, the Military would make certain Blake Morgan had anything he wanted. Even the woman who believed he was dead.