A Soldier's Devotion
Cheryl Wyatt
U.S. Air Force pararescue jumper Vince Reardon was headed to a lifesaving mission.Until a too-pretty lawyer crashed her fancy car into his motorcycle–sidelining him for two weeks. Vince can barely accept Valentina Russo's heartfelt apologies. Ever since his brother was wrongly convicted–and killed in prison–Vince has lost respect for lawyers.But wait–is that Val volunteering at his refuge for underprivileged kids? If Vince isn't careful, this lady of the law might just earn his respect and his heart.
“There must be something about you to love,”
Val said, “because I saw a throng of people in that waiting room who love you.”
“Wait. You came to the hospital to see me?” Vince asked.
“Yes. Although I didn’t have the guts to approach you.”
That made him laugh. But his smile quickly faded as he shook his head. “Those people you saw, that’s my pararescue team. They tolerate me because they have no choice. We’re assigned together.”
“Of course they have a choice. It goes beyond your role on the PJ team. They love you, even though you’re brooding, stubborn and obstinate.”
“Stubborn and obstinate? Well, now. Looks like we have something in common.” His stormy eyes did a commando crawl across her face.
“Fine,” he said. “It’s on.”
“Yes,” she whispered sarcastically. “The battle of the century.”
CHERYL WYATT
An RN turned stay-at-home mom and wife, Cheryl delights in the stolen moments God gives her to write action- and faith-driven romance. She stays active in her church and in her laundry room. She’s convinced that having been born on a naval base on Valentine’s Day destined her to write military romance. A native of San Diego, California, Cheryl currently resides in beautiful, rustic Southern Illinois, but has also enjoyed living in New Mexico and Oklahoma. Cheryl loves hearing from readers. You are invited to contact her at Cheryl@CherylWyatt.com or P.O. Box 2955, Carbondale, IL 62902–2955. Visit her on the Web at www.CherylWyatt.com and sign up for her newsletter if you’d like updates on new releases, events and other fun stuff. Hang out with her in the blogosphere at www.Scrollsquirrel.blogspot.com or on the message boards at www.SteepleHill.com.
A Soldier’s Devotion
Cheryl Wyatt
“Remember, O Lord, how I have walked before you faithfully and with wholehearted devotion and have done what is good in your eyes.”
—Isaiah 38:3
To the Seekers. (www.seekerville.blogspot.com)
I am thankful for your friendship and support.
My life is richer because of each of you.
To God. Thank You for pursuing us with a stubborn, relentless love.
To agent Rachel Zurakowski and the team at Books and Such for helping me to strive for literary excellence. Thanks also for your career guidance and the gazillion other things you do.
To Sarah McDaniel and Melissa Endlich and the Steeple Hill team. From Art to Marketing and everyone else, you do a fantastic job and it is a tremendous honor to be able to write these books under your logo.
Acknowledgments
Shane and Jennifer Aden for all things attorney related. Who knew prosecutors don’t work in firms? Thankfully, you! Thanks for setting me straight and for making my heroine’s career seem more authentic. By the way, I think I saw Pooky sneak off with that rock-concert kilt…
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
This is the second-worst day of my life.
U.S. Air Force Pararescue Jumper Vince Reardon lay pressed to wet asphalt. Rain pelted his face.
The woman who’d seconds ago smashed her sizzling-red sedan into his chrome-and-black-lacquered motorcycle hovered in his periphery. Smoky eyes bulged with worry from a trepid face that begged him not to be mad. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry.”
“I can’t look at you, or I’ll erupt.” Vince pushed a groan through gritted teeth and tried like mad to distract himself from blowtorch-caliber pain searing through the palms of his hands, left arm and outer left leg. “Saw you on your cell phone seconds before you hit my bike.”
Correction. The custom, one-of-a-kind masterpiece on wheels that his late brother hand-built weeks before his death.
Once again the woman murmured soft words, rested a shaky palm on Vince’s shoulder. And prayed. He tried not to flinch away from her. Wanted to yell at her to leave him alone. Wanted to scream out in pain. Alone.
He clenched his eyes to shut out the pity on the strained faces of bystanders who’d come to his aid. More specifically, he wanted to shut her out.
But the truth was her presence and her prayers soothed. Besides, it wasn’t like he could get away from her.
“Lord, help him be okay. Please don’t let anything be broken.”
Vince found her face and lashed a hard look at her remorseful one. “I’m not one for religion, lady.” He beamed visual warning flares. Tried not to get his gaze snagged by eyes that were heavily lined and radiantly luminous. Or the stylish pixie cut that caused jagged angles of hair to hug prominent cheekbones.
Anything to distract from discomfort.
Other than desert-sand-colored swaths streaking through dark brown hair, giving her a youngish, trendy look, she smacked of “career woman.” She wore sleek high-end shoes with some seriously dangerous skyscraper heels and a conservative charcoal business suit which could not camouflage her curves.
He wouldn’t be so perturbed if she weren’t so glaringly pretty.
French-manicured nails rested once again on his shoulder.
No ring.
And just why would he care, other than to feel scolded for noticing her curviness, if she were married? The fact that her barren finger hitched his eyes a little too long on her hand drew a second frustrated sigh.
He might be down, but he wasn’t dead. The gal was stunning.
“You need to get out of the intersection. Least till the cops get here,” Vince ground out.
He didn’t want both of them to be in danger of getting reamed by oncoming traffic should some other driver pull her gig and forget to pay attention. He brought his hands up to carefully remove his helmet.
“I’m not leaving you,” came her soft but firm reply.
She helped him take his helmet off. Turned it over, gasped then set it aside. Her bugged-wide eyes closed and her lips moved in frenzy. Something about thank you.
Against his wishes and his will, she prayed.
That it brought the slightest measure of peace angered him more than anything. He clamped his lips to keep from cursing. Sure, she’d smashed his bike, but he didn’t want to disrespect a lady.
Even if she had just destroyed his most prized possession.
And ruined his chance to join his team on the type of mission that came few and far between. An allied pilot shot down and in need of rapid-reaction rescue on hostile soil.
Vince not being at the chopper when it was ready to lift could cost that pilot his life.
Shivers claimed him. Adrenaline OD. Had to be.
Once his team figured out crucial minutes too late that he wasn’t coming, they would have to pull his weight plus manage their own.
Way dangerous.
Especially since they all had specific jobs they were trained to do during a rescue. There’d be no time to replace him.
Nothing rapid-reaction about him writhing here in the middle of a rain-driven road, wishing like crazy this irksome brunette hadn’t been driving under the influence of distraction.
Water soaked his back, seeping cold to his bones. A rock dug into his skin below his shoulder. He tried to reposition without moving his neck.
Pain streaked across his shoulder blade. Numbness trickled down his arms and tingled fingers on his left hand. A frustrated sound scraped its way up his throat again but he clamped his lips against it. Despite the early-April cold, sweat broke out over his upper lip. He puffed out breaths but the pain didn’t relent this time.
He was sure he was fine, but as a military paramedic, he knew enough to be still and quiet just the same. A killer headache was building at the base of his skull and he knew better than to move until someone slapped a C-collar on him.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you until too late.” Words wobbled from unsteady lips. Hand remaining on his shoulder, she leaned forward, blocking rain from thrashing his face. She continued her prayers.
“You’re getting soaked.” Crazy lady. Her hair was dripping. Her expensive soft suede suit was probably ruined. She didn’t act like she cared. In fact, the deceptively calm body posture he could tell she fought to maintain looked ready to crumble. Like she was nearing her breaking point.
Rain-mingled tears hovering on long lashes threatened to fall. She blinked rapidly. “Help will be here soon.”
Who was she trying to convince? Him? Or herself?
And how could her voice be soothing and grating at the same time? No matter about his bones. His main concern was his bike.
“How’s my ride?”
Her eyes startled open. “What?”
He clenched his teeth. She was probably some rich chick who didn’t understand one stinking mutilated syllable of street lingo. “My chopper. Bike. Motorcycle. Thing with two wheels that goes down the road. How is it?”
That she didn’t answer and only scanned the area around them with ever-widening eyes revved his headache through the roof of his skull.
Incensed, he released the pent-up groan.
“I am sooo sorry. The ambulance will be here soon.”
The urge to laugh hit him full force from nowhere. “For me or the bike?”
A startled look stole over her face before she averted her gaze. “Both, I think. This was all my fault. I—I’ll pay for it.”
Again, her words made him want to laugh. “The bike? Or my hospital and ambulance bills?”
“Both. Of course, both.” She looked like she could cry.
“The cycle—is it drivable?”
She bit her bottom lip until it turned white, then looked around like Refuge’s traumatized mayor after last year’s bridge collapse. “Um, I think not. It…It’s…pretty smashed.”
He tensed and wished she’d get her soft hand off his aching arm.
“How bad?” If this crazy lady broke the only tangible reminder remaining on earth of his late brother…he’d never forgive her. At her blank look, impatience mounted, twisting his shoulders into knots. “How. Bad. Is. It?” He enunciated the words like a phonics teacher with a mouthful of molten lava.
“Um…so-ome of the pieces broke off.” Her face blanched the more her eyes scanned their periphery and whatever carnage littered it. “Maybe even…well, all of the little ones.”
He didn’t doubt that since he’d felt tiny insignificant cosmetic pieces break off on impact. That wasn’t his main concern. “How’s the frame?”
“B-bent. Definitely, but not horribly. I—at least I don’t think so.” Her lips rolled inward as if her own words daunted her. Distress mounted in her eyes and tears finally trickled down her cheeks. She blinked furiously. “I—I’m not m-much of a motorcycle person.”
No kidding. For an instant, he almost felt sorrier for her than for himself.
Nah.
Her remorse probably only meant she feared he’d sue her.
Didn’t matter. She shouldn’t concern her pretty self with petty litigation. He’d be the last person to go near any sort of legal office. His family had a thing against lawyers. Far as Vince was concerned, they were the reason his brother…
Sirens whined closer, blared louder, derailing his train of thought, causing the throbbing in his head to expand.
Flashing emergency vehicle taillights reflected off the wet surface, giving eerie red hues to the watery seal-coat layer over asphalt smothered in oil and gasoline. Doors creaked open and slammed shut.
Several sets of black shoes hooded in blue scrub pants sloshed across the lot. Drizzle sprinkled Vince’s face as the woman divorced her hand from his shoulder and leaned back, allowing EMTs to access him.
Staying as still as possible, Vince issued himself a mental reprimand for instantly missing her fruity perfume, her lullaby voice, her presence and even her prayers.
Missing her. Just—her.
Anger welled in him that a complete stranger and her connection to the God he loathed brought comfort in this momentary nightmare. He needed to let team leader Joel Montgomery know why he was late. Tell him what was going on without compromising the mission or his teammates’ safety.
How to do this? What to say?
He wouldn’t be telling the truth—that he’d probably just fractured or dislocated something—that’s for sure. But trying to go injured could cause a new set of problems. No way would he be stupid enough to put his brothers in harm’s way. Even if it meant he had to lay down his angry pride and let this mission go on without him.
He looked at the woman—the very beautiful woman—who caused all this and felt like growling at her and howling at the moon all at the same time. Absurd. Musta hit his head harder than he thought. Err, his helmet rather.
Speaking of his helmet, Vince remembered how crazy-soft her hands felt as she’d helped him off with it.
“You still got that phone on you?” Vince asked her through clenched teeth.
“Yes. Who can I call for you?” Quaking hands fumbled in the pocket of her power suit. The one that hugged a figure any guy would be nuts not to notice. Even an injured one. He jerked away his gaze like the rip cord on a screaming parachute and ground his teeth. He wanted nothing whatsoever about her to be appealing.
He’d been headed to the drop-zone facility following an emergency page from Joel. But, on impact, his cell phone had bounced across the road and broken into particles.
Frustration surged. He became even more irked that he’d been placed in the position of having to use his assailant’s phone for help.
Vince refused to restrain the disapproval from his voice as he recited the number of Refuge’s DZ. The guys were probably convening there prior to being flown to their insertion point.
Without him.
Not only had this bad-driving woman risked his life, she’d rendered his team one man short.
Slender fingers punched the keypad. “It’s ringing.” She held the phone to his ear.
“Yeah, Chance? Lemme talk to Joel.” Vince huffed a breath. Ribs sore. Hurt to talk.
She must have sensed it because she moved the phone from his ear to hers. “Who am I talking to?” she asked Vince in a take-charge voice that he would have appreciated any other time.
The last thing he wanted was to feel anything remotely positive toward the enemy—who was, at the moment, namely her. And the terrorists who’d shot down the pilot he couldn’t go help save.
His anger hit boiling point again. And he let her know it with a lethal look. Didn’t faze or rattle her. Must be one mortar-tough chick.
“Ask for Montgomery. Tell him I’m in a fender bender and won’t make the lift.”
“Mr. Montgomery?” she said into the phone. “Yes, I’m here with…Excuse me a moment.” She covered the mouthpiece and leaned in to Vince. “What’s your name?”
“Reardon.”
“I’m here with…Reardon. I—he’s been in a substantial accident. On his bike, yes.” She swallowed. Hard. Okay, maybe not so tough.
Vince scowled at her for giving TMI but she ignored him just like she’d disobeyed the traffic signal that caused this wreck.
“Yes, he’s alert and coherent, but I think it hurts him to talk. The ambulance is on its way. Yes. Thank you. And I’m very sorry. Well, because I’m the one who caused the wreck.” Her lips trembled at the words and no doubt Joel was offering soothing words to her. Traitor.
Connor Stallings, a Refuge police officer, finished taking statements from witnesses and approached. He dipped his head toward the phone. “Is that Montgomery?”
“Yes.”
“Let me talk with him.” Stallings took the cell she handed him then he stepped out of Vince’s earshot.
Another raging hole burned through Vince. He hated to be coddled and babied. Most of all pitied. And Stallings’ face had been full of it when he’d initially rushed over to Vince upon arriving on the accident scene.
After talking with Vince’s leader and saying who knows what that could further worry them needlessly, Stallings knelt beside him. Compassionate eyes rested on Vince, which ticked him off even more. Anger surged like his headache. Did everyone have to feel sorry for him?
Vince clenched his jaw at the unwanted attention. He didn’t want anyone to see him weak or broken. He vehemently ignored the rubberneckers in cars and concerned bystanders in the periphery and focused on Officer Stallings.
“I guess I don’t have to ask how you’re doing, Sergeant Reardon.”
Vince eyed one of the few men he’d met who matched his six-foot-six stature and who sometimes skydived at Refuge Drop Zone. “I’ve been better.” He slashed a sharp look at the woman.
Although he was scraped up and in mind-blasting pain, his sense of pride and dignity were wounded above all.
Stallings’ blue-silver gaze cooled as it rested on the woman. “Were you the other driver?”
“Y-yes. I was at fault.” Her lips trembled.
Vince looked away, not wanting to soften toward her.
“That your car?” Stallings jotted notes.
She nodded.
“Name?”
“Val…Valentina Russo.” She spelled it out in breathless syllables. Something inside Vince tried to bend in mercy.
Until he conjured images of his brother’s face as he’d presented the bike to Vince on a prison-visitation weekend. The one prior to the riot that had taken his life. To make matters worse, his brother had been cleared posthumously of charges incurred by a six-man jury trial tainted by a money-hungry, truth-botching lawyer who cared more about retainer fees than ratting out false informants.
Vince hadn’t been able to free his brother or save his life, but he was determined to clear his brother’s name. Just as determined as his brother had been to work toward good behavior that had allowed him to do supervised shop work in order to finish the bike he’d started for Vince.
The very bike this senseless driver had just smashed to smithereens in a preventable accident.
Stallings scribbled on his clipboard then eyed the woman. “Where were you headed in such a hurry?”
“I was on my way to the courthouse near the square.”
“For?”
“Court. I’m an attorney.”
Chapter Two
How could a horrid day have gotten worse?
Val brushed damp hair from her eyes and drew calming breaths as paramedics lifted the man she’d injured into the waiting ambulance. “I h-hope he’s going to be okay,” she murmured. And poor Aunt Elsie!
Val glanced at her watch then at her silent phone. Why hadn’t the ER doctor called back with word on Elsie’s condition?
“Vince is tough, he’ll survive.” The officer beside her tore off a citation and handed it to her. “I’m ticketing you for disobeying a traffic signal.”
Her cheeks flushed. “I understand.”
How embarrassing this would be—paying the fine at the courthouse she went to on a weekly basis as a prosecutor.
But she rightfully deserved the ticket.
And at least he’d only issued her one citation.
Or not.
He’d started scribbling on his pad again.
“According to the skid marks, you weren’t speeding above posted limits. But you were driving too fast for conditions, which I’m issuing you a warning for.” He tore off another ticket and handed it to her.
“Thanks.” Thanks? Who says thanks to a ticket?
Elsie’s fall and this wreck had really rattled her.
“What made you run the red light?”
“On my way to court, I received a call from the hospital that my aunt toppled down her basement stairs on a medical scooter.”
Officer Stallings looked up in an abrupt motion.
“I’m new to town and unfamiliar with this intersection. I saw the light too late,” Val finished, wishing her hands and voice would stop quaking. She’d never in her life been this nervous; not even in court before the most cantankerous and imposing judge.
“You were on the phone?” Stallings policed her with a harsh, discerning look.
Val stepped closer to Stallings. “I didn’t want to explain my emergency in front of Mr. Reardon because I didn’t want to increase his distress.”
Stallings nodded but pulled out his ticket pad again. “Go on.”
“I was getting information as to whether I needed to cancel court to be with my aunt. Now I can’t reach her doctor.”
“That’s who you were talking to when you crashed?”
“Yes, the doctor. The earpiece I ordered from the local cell phone dealer isn’t in yet and I dropped the phone. The call disconnected.”
He wrote and handed her another ticket. “This is for talking on a cell phone while driving which, emergency or not, is illegal in Illinois.”
Of course she deserved it. “I understand. I should have pulled over to talk.” Val fiddled with the pewter bracelet on her wrist—a gift from Aunt Elsie.
Her sincere contriteness softened Stallings’ expression. He motioned her toward two LED-flashing cruisers. “Your vehicle isn’t safe to drive. A tow truck will haul it to Eagle’s Nest Vehicle Repair. I’ll drive you to Refuge Memorial to check on your aunt.”
They got in the car and exited the scene as the ambulance left with Mr. Reardon. Val eyed the bike debris in the road as they passed. “He’s understandably angry that I destroyed it. I’ll pay to have it fixed.” Would her car insurance cover his bike? She hadn’t been paying attention and now she would pay dearly. Val wrung her hands and wished for news on Aunt Elsie.
Stallings flicked a glance her way. “You can’t simply replace that bike. Vince’s brother custom-built it for him. There’s not another like it in the world.”
“Maybe I can have his brother build him another one.” The large van she was saving to buy for transporting at-risk teens around town would have to be put on hold. But such was the nature of consequence.
Stallings shook his head. “Not possible. His brother passed away in prison.”
Her heart leaped to her throat. “Mr. Reardon’s brother was incarcerated?”
“Yes. For a crime someone else committed.”
His steely tone told her that’s all he was going to say about that.
Vince’s brother was wrongly convicted? Had to have been, for an officer of the law to say so with such conviction. And a detectable measure of corporate remorse.
The bottom fell out of her stomach.
Stallings steered left. “So he harbors ill regard for the legal system.”
She’d suspected it when curse-laced words snaked out of Mr. Reardon to strike her the moment she’d explained she was an attorney on her way to court.
“And anyone associated with the judicial system. You, therefore, aren’t on his list of favorite people.”
Her phone chimed. Her aunt’s doctor’s name appeared on caller ID. Thank God!
Val cast a visual appeal toward Officer Stallings. “Excuse me. I have to take this. Hello?”
“Miss Russo, I don’t have long to talk. I’m here at Refuge Memorial Trauma Care with your aunt. She needs surgery right away. Her vitals are veering toward unstable. We suspect she has internal bleeding. The only way to know where it’s coming from is to open her up. Her hip is also broken. She says you’re her closest next of kin and she’s asking for you. How far out are you?”
Val’s heart rate dipped, and then sped up. “We’re on the way. I would be there by now but I’ve been involved in a car accident.”
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
She fought a tremor in her voice. “I am. Please don’t tell Aunt Elsie about the accident.”
A remembrance of the angry red scrapes on Vince’s skinned-up body and hands caused her arms to ice. Images of his badly damaged helmet swerved through her mind. And to think if he hadn’t been wearing it—
Her arms went from deep-frozen to arctic-numb.
She could have killed him.
“Your aunt is mildly sedated but fairly adamant about seeing you before she goes into surgery.”
“Do you think she’s afraid she won’t come out of it?”
“I’m not sure.”
“She will come out of it, right?”
The extended pause on the line constricted Val’s throat. She shuddered, taking in a breath.
“We hope so. But I can’t promise. With her in her eighties, any surgery is risky. The anesthesiologist is here now. At this point it’s more of a risk to wait.”
“Then don’t. Tell her I was unavoidably detained but I’ll be there when she wakes up.”
Please let her wake up.
“Okay. Be careful.”
Val ended the call so Elsie could get treatment. At least she was a strong believer. God would be with her and give Elsie a sustaining sense of His presence.
But what about the man called Vince? Hadn’t he said he wasn’t one for religion? His eyes and tone had grown belligerent the more she’d prayed. So she’d resorted to praying silently. What if he had internal bleeding, too? The sudden thought struck terror in her.
She’d made a stupid, stupid mistake today.
One that could have cost a hero his life.
Where had he been going in his military garb? Someplace important, no doubt. Or what if he’d been deployed and was just returning home to his family? She hadn’t thought to ask if he wanted her to call his family.
Surely a man like that had a wife and children.
The more her mistake settled in, the more the acid reflux seared her throat. This man Reardon might never forgive her. But the bottomless pain she’d witnessed in his eyes ran deeper than the wreck today. He needed God.
“Everything okay with your aunt?” Stallings’ voice crashed into her thoughts.
“They’re taking her into surgery now.”
Now on Verbose Street, the main one running through Refuge, Stallings began passing traffic. Probably to get her to the hospital sooner, for which she was grateful. “It might far better for you if Reardon knows about the nature of the phone call you received while driving.”
“Maybe,” Val said. “But that still doesn’t excuse it.”
Stallings didn’t say anything for a few blocks.
Hospital in view, she pulled her purse into her lap. “Is there anyone else you know of who could help rebuild the bike?”
Stallings looked at her sharply. “Just his sister. But they’re estranged.”
“What else can you tell me?” Val asked, feeling indebted to the man whose bike she destroyed and whose life she endangered.
“If you can locate her, she builds custom bikes, too. That’s an idea if you really want to replicate that bike close to how his brother built it. She may have helped his late brother design it. But it’s no secret to anyone who knows Vince that he and his sister haven’t gotten along since their brother’s death.”
She probably shouldn’t wonder why. Hard to help it though. Her two options balanced on a mental justice scale. She had to do something to right this wrong.
She shifted in her seat. “Will it anger him more that he doesn’t get his bike fixed the way it was, or if I contact a family member he doesn’t get along with?”
Stallings made a slight coughing sound. “Not sure. Both rank equally high on the danger scale.”
“Would you know how I could contact her?”
Stallings shook his head. “I’m steering clear of this one. You’ll have to search that out on your own then decide whether contacting her is a risk worth taking.”
“If you at least know her name, I’ll obtain her contact information. I have to try.”
“Don’t know her first name.”
“Is she still a Reardon?”
“Far as I know. You might ask Joel, Vince’s team leader. He owns the DZ, Refuge Drop Zone, a skydiving facility west of town. He’s there a lot. I can’t guarantee he’ll know how to locate her or be free with information if he does.”
Stallings looked doubtful enough for discouragement to handcuff her normally bulletproof courage and arrest her determination.
But something about Vince called to her. He seemed an imprisoned soul with tortured eyes, and it had nothing to do with the wreck today. His pain dwelled deeper than the crash, larger than the loss of his bike.
And no matter how long or hard or difficult, she was determined to get to the bottom of it—to ease the trauma life had put him through and to erase the anger that had been directed at her and everything she stood for.
Somehow, this wreck was no accident. She felt God’s fingerprints all over it.
Something stirred in her soul for Vince Reardon’s. As sure as the land had law, she had to get through to him.
“You don’t need to be here,” Vince said to Joel and the rest of the team, who hovered in a restless horde as hospital triage staff wheeled him back to the emergency room after X-rays. “You should be on the field bringing a pilot back to his family. Not here bugging me.”
Why hadn’t they gone?
“We aborted. Petrowski sent another team,” Joel said as though perceiving his question.
“Yeah, thanks to Stallings’ loose lips and a reckless-driving woman’s big mouth,” Vince bit out. Mostly because mentioning her mouth evoked pleasant images more than unpleasant memories of the collision she’d caused.
A paternally stern look entered team leader Joel’s eyes. But so what? It was his bad day and he had a right to be rude and testy. At least outwardly. Didn’t help matters that his skin burned like fire from scrapes and nurses’ merciless cleaning of them. Speaking of, Nurse Torture stepped toward the door. “I need to see another patient.”
“Good.” Vince started to fold his arms but stopped. Pain clenched his shoulders.
He didn’t want to see or talk to anyone right now and especially not the crazy lady who crashed his bike and brought a bomb of worry crashing down on his team.
Worry for nothing. “It’s not like the wreck was fatal.”
“No, but it could have been,” Joel said.
“Well it, wasn’t. So you can all go home.”
His teammates eyed one another, but refused to budge. If it wouldn’t hurt his scraped-raw jaw to cuss, he would.
Aaron Petrowski, commander over three pararescue teams within their joint task force, entered the room and stood by Joel. Both were strong military leaders and two of Refuge’s most well-respected men. They also had the most solid faith of anyone he knew. Not that he’d admit it to their faces.
Why couldn’t his dad have been that kind of man? Then maybe his childhood wouldn’t have been so humiliating. Son of the town drunk. That’s what he’d been known for. And he’d grown to despise pity because of it.
Petrowski leaned over his side rail. “Saw your bike. Or what’s left of it.”
Vince cringed inwardly.
Manny Peña knuckled Vince’s unscathed shoulder. “Boy, I think you got me beat. Word on the street is you had a world-class crash.”
Vince raised the head of his bed. “Yeah, but my accident wasn’t my own fault.” He made sure to inject heavy doses of sarcasm in his words.
Manny grinned. Then his face sobered. “Seriously, Reardon. I’m glad you’re okay.” He assessed Vince’s bandages. “For the most part.”
Vince despised the sympathy in his stocky teammate’s eyes. Or maybe it was empathy.
Manny had crashed a parachute a couple years back. The one jump in Manny’s history that he’d left the plane without his hook knife. When a line-over collapsed his main chute, he couldn’t cut it away. When he’d activated the reserve chute, it tangled on the malfunctioning main chute and he’d crashed into the only grove of trees for miles.
Vince’s respect for Manny ramped though. The dude had to have been in much more pain than Vince was in now.
Teammate Chance moved in. “Yeah. You’re blessed to be alive.”
Blessed? Since when did Garrison start using churchy words? If one more member of his team crossed over to the dark side—as Vince deemed Christianity—he’d…well, he didn’t know what he’d do. Be hard-pressed for partying buddies, that’s what.
For once the thought of alcohol caused a sour taste to settle in Vince’s mouth. For sure he’d smacked his skull.
Joel eyeballed Chance then Vince. “God protected you, bud.”
It was on Vince’s tongue to remark against that and say that God hadn’t protected him, Vince just cheated death. But something stopped him. Weird. He never would have thought twice about spouting something like that before. If nothing other than to rile Joel.
A knowing settled deep inside. He’d felt protected by someone much bigger than himself. He couldn’t deny that.
Joel was right. The wreck could have killed him. Or caused permanent brain damage or spinal-cord injuries. None of which showed up on the barrage of tests Refuge’s trauma team put him through in the past hours.
Minor injuries, arm and leg abrasions from the skid and a slight concussion from impacting pavement at high speed were his only diagnoses. Doctors were calling him a miracle. Whatever. His mind would normally refute the word with vehemence.
But for some reason, this time the word sobered him.
The foreign feeling that had filtered through him back at the accident scene when the woman prayed fell in around him again. Tangible. Soothing. Like warm water on a cold day. He felt drugged. But he’d refused pain meds.
“You’re skinned up pretty good,” Joel observed as a doctor salved Vince’s arm scrapes then bandaged them.
“Still. You should be overseas with someone really hurt. Ridiculous that you guys chose to stay with a bike-wreck victim over a pilot whose plane crashed.”
“You’re not just a bike-wreck victim, Vince. You’re our brother.” Ben Dillinger bumped gentle knuckles into Vince’s uninjured shoulder.
“No way were we gonna leave you, not knowing how bad you were,” Petrowski added.
Everything in Vince wanted to flail against the friendship that had caused his team to choose him over a mission.
But looking into the eyes of his team—Leader Joel, Mountain Manny, Gentle Ben, Compassionate Nolan, Wise Aaron, Shy Chance and Boisterous Brock—Vince couldn’t bring himself to scrutinize their decision. He’d have done the same for each of them had fate’s tables been turned.
He clenched his jaw against an agitating sense of belonging. One he didn’t want to grow too comfortable in. He didn’t feel deserving of their love and sympathy.
If he was a soft kinda guy, their concern could get to him as far as stirring his emotions. He blinked and cleared a foreign knot from his throat. Alien emotions rushed forward and pressed against the back of his eyes. Vince clenched his jaw and blink, blink, blinked.
The guys eyed him then one another, surprise evident.
His hackles rose. “What? Hospital’s dry. Makes my eyes water.” He ground his teeth and wanted nothing more than to go home and sulk alone.
No one looked convinced. He scowled and huffed.
A nurse entered, breaking the moment. “Ready to get out of here?”
He yanked down his side rail and stood so fast she jumped. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Laughing, she brandished his instructions. “Take it easy for a few days. Doc says no skydiving or dangerous activities for a couple of weeks.”
Vince opened his mouth to protest but Petrowski’s hand clamping his shoulder stopped him. “We’ll make sure he has desk or rigging duty until his doctor clears him.”
Rigging chutes? He’d rather eat overgrown slugs. But desk duty was worse than rigging. A sitter he was not. A rigger he could be and survive. Anger resurfaced over the woman who sent his day south. Two weeks? Not only would he be at risk of death by boredom, he’d miss important training sessions with recruits. And for what? To be holed up in a back room with a bunch of parachutes that he’d have to fold instead of fly. Better than desk duty though.
He bypassed the wheelchair the nurse brought him and limped with his team toward the exit. They stayed close but knew well enough not to try and lend a hand. Speaking of, something else hit him.
He faced his superiors. “I’ll still be able to launch Refuge’s community swim-safety program, right?”
The cautious looks Petrowski passed Joel told Vince he probably didn’t want to know the answer to that.
Once again, ire flared against the woman who caused these problems. He wrestled mental frustration at thoughts that the community programs would be delayed, therefore risking the sponsors’ continued support.
Pressure-cooked anger boiled inside his lidded emotions to the point of explosion.
“If Miss Russo knows what’s good for her, she’ll steer completely clear of me.”
Chapter Three
“How’s the pilot?” Vince asked Petrowski through a door in a back room at the DZ the next week.
Chunka-chunka-chunka of a sewing machine whirred behind him. Chance, at its helm mainly to keep Vince company, paused as Petrowski stepped inside.
Vince surveyed this morning’s work lining the cubbyholes on the far wall. Neon parachute harnesses and canopies hung to his left.
Sewn canopies rested on a stainless-steel work desk against the wall behind him.
“Not sure yet.” Petrowski stepped over a parachute stretched across folding mats on the spacious floor.
Something in Vince’s gut said Petrowski was withholding information. His prerogative, he guessed. But every day that pilot remained unfound added sobering percentage to the possibility that he wouldn’t be found alive.
Joel entered. “What’s making you bark this time, Reardon?”
Vince tamped down his acrid mood because he didn’t want to stir the volatile pot and disrespect the authority of the man who was also his friend. “I mean no disrespect, sir, but there was no need not to send our guys to attempt that rescue last week.” Vince swiped up his plastic jug and swigged his water, wishing it was a cold beer instead. Then just as fast, the thought of tasting beer turned uncharacteristically sour. Way weird.
Maybe he had some undetected brain damage from the wreck. No other rational explanation for him not wanting to down a cold one.
Chance abandoned the sewing and knelt to fold the next chute in the lineup.
Vince dropped to his knees to help. “Though I’m sure they’re properly trained, they don’t have as much experience with pilot rescue as we do.”
Petrowski stood to his full height. “Then they needed the practice, didn’t they?”
“Yeah, but—they could practice during training. This was a real mission with an actual human life at stake, sir.” Frustration surged over the fact.
Joel shifted his stance. “Don’t ride Petrowski, Reardon. We requested he send another team as long as it wouldn’t further jeopardize the pilot.”
“Fine.” Vince’s diamond-plate will yielded. He trusted and respected his leaders and their decisions. Period. That still didn’t explain why they’d choose him over bringing a pilot back. That went completely against their creed. And against any good reason Vince could wrap his mind around.
Unless Vince meant more to them.
Nah. Not possible. Right? Not as intentionally difficult and brooding and belligerent as he strove to be.
Vince folded his arms across his chest and grunted. “I think all your sanities just fell off a corporate cliff.”
But the deep care embedded in their eyes said otherwise.
Petrowski leaned in, eyeing Vince’s elbow. “That has to hurt. But I expected you to look worse only a week after your wipeout.” He smirked.
Now that was more like it. Let them give him grief. Give him a hard time. Give him relentless razzing. Anything was better than the pity plastered on their faces upon seeing him ride down the hall strapped helplessly to an annoyingly creaky gurney last week.
“That’s because that dame who hit me blasted things out of proportion.”
“Whoa, grumpy,” a familiar voice said from the doorway.
Refuge’s Sheriff Steele and Officer Stallings walked in with an armload of his things.
“I recovered your stuff.” A metallic clank sounded as Stallings laid the items on an empty stainless-steel table.
Rounds of surprise rumbled through the room from each member of his team.
Obliterating silence followed as his leaders and fellow PJs eyed the objects.
Or what was left of them.
Vince swallowed hard. So did most of his team. If it hadn’t been for the thick leather jacket and helmet he had worn, he would have been far worse off.
Stallings handed Vince his scuffed-up wallet. “There’s a copy of the police report at the station once you feel up to filling your portion out. Although the other driver was cited for infractions, you should know she was distracted by a family emergency.”
Vince blinked. What kind of family emergency? She’d said she was on her way to court. So which time was she lying? Figured. Didn’t all attorneys?
“So, go easy on her,” Stallings was saying. “She’s fully prepared to take responsibility for the accident.”
“She admitted fault?” An attorney?
“Yes. Without hesitation. And she was insured.” Stallings’ gaze veered toward the helmet and the scuffed black jacket that had shredded down to his skin.
Vince’s arms tingled at the thought of how much worse he could have fared.
“You ought to thank the Big Man Upstairs that you’re alive.” Stallings jabbed a pointer finger toward the ceiling a couple times to drive his divine point home, then stepped out.
Silence pervaded for several moments.
Vince peered at the items. Joel walked over and lifted them up one by one. Vince’s other teammates moved close to look. Vince raised his head to see over Brock’s broad back and Chance’s tall shoulders.
“Wow. Dude.”
Who said that, Vince couldn’t be sure. His mind had skidded back to the moment of impact. He forced images away and focused on his rain-and-red-soaked belongings.
The bloodstained leather was mangled into shreds, the inside of the material scraped from asphalt and oil on the arms where he’d skidded.
Joel whistled long and lifted Vince’s helmet.
His very scraped helmet.
“That could have been your skull, Reardon,” Joel said.
What could he say to that? Certainly couldn’t refute it. He’d only recently begun wearing one, ever since Stallings had pulled him over for the third time and told him it was the law.
“Lemme see that.” Vince held out his hand. Joel placed the helmet in it.
Vince turned it over in his hands while his team looked on. His helmet was scraped down the back and the inner foam lining was compressed from absorbing impact.
Joel was right. That could have been his skull had he not been wearing it. In that moment Vince knew he would not be sitting here alive had he not been wearing it. And, not that he’d admit this quite yet, but maybe Someone upstairs did spare his life.
Why?
Why did God think him worth saving when good people died every day?
“Anything else there?” Vince asked, growing uncomfortable with his own thoughts.
No telling what had happened to his gloves. But they’d been a gift from his dad. One of the only things the drunken old codger had ever given him besides a hard life and a hard time. The old man spent all his money on booze.
Chance poked his head in the door and extended a cordless phone. “Petrowski, Central with word on the missing pilot.”
Chance’s solemn tone did not make Vince feel good. Aaron took the call in hushed words. When he peered over his shoulder, shook his head in somber motions and gestured Joel out, Vince cursed and looked around for something to punch just like the truth hitting him in the gut.
The pilot wasn’t coming home. Not alive, anyway.
Vince’s lingering headache expanded into something monstrous. Part of it was probably from worrying about the pilot’s family and how miserable the novice PJ team must feel right now. And his own misery over his jacked-up bike. And his hopelessness over his old man who refused to stop drinking. And his ruined relationship with the sister he still loved so much it hurt. Yet both of them were too stubborn to reach out first.
No use pining for things that couldn’t be fixed.
He thought of the pilot and of his brother.
Or continue to ache and seethe over someone who couldn’t be brought back from wherever souls go when they die.
But knowing that didn’t afford him the ability to let go. And now, some senseless woman had sabotaged a crucial mission and severed the one final connection he still felt he had with his brother.
And he didn’t know if he could ever forgive her.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
The familiar voice paused Val at the DZ entrance. She faced the man leaving and realized he wasn’t in uniform. “Officer Stallings.”
“Miss Russo.” He viewed the stuff in her arms. “For Vince?”
Her toe dug into the asphalt. “Ah, yeah.”
“Peace offering?” His head dipped toward the items.
Val plucked at her gift. A stuffed tan bear wearing a camouflage outfit, a tiny parachute and airplane Band-Aids she’d placed on his arms. “I found it at the gift shop near the unmapped military base on the outskirts of Refuge.”
She’d gone there yesterday after leaving the hospital where she’d checked on Elsie, scheduled for another surgery today.
When Val had called the police station last week to ask about Vince, the dispatcher had informed her she’d crashed into one of the town’s infamous PJs. Val wasn’t even from around Refuge, and had heard of them. Didn’t take much sleuthing to figure out she could find Vince at the Refuge Bed and Breakfast on Mustang Lane or at the DZ near Peña’s Landing.
“I went to the B and B and inquired about Vince. A nice woman named Sarah told me I could find Vince here. She offered directions to the DZ facility. So, is he in there?” She eyed the suddenly formidable-looking building.
“Yeah.” He angled toward her. “I hope you’re not planning to go in there with that stuff just yet.”
“Why not?” Val stepped into the DZ lobby.
Stallings trailed, looking ten kinds of tense. Like he might be gearing up to referee a domestic disturbance. “He’s still pretty steamed under the collar. And Vince is a hothead, anyway. That bear’s liable to have its limbs torn off and you’re liable to walk out wearing the stuffing.”
“It’s a chance I’ll take unless you think my presence will compromise his recovery.”
Stallings snorted. “It’s not Vince’s health I’d be worried about. Miss, I’m telling you, he’s not one to mess with when he’s this mad. I suggest you either send it in with someone else or come back at a later date. Ten years from now ought to do it.”
Though vaguely amused, she grew irritated and eyed her watch. She needed to be back at the hospital soon. Elsie would be out of her second surgery anytime now if everything had gone well. Val shoved the bear toward Stallings. “Then would you mind taking it in to him?”
Stallings’ eyes bugged. He backed away from the bear. “Me? Uh, no, ma’am.” He grabbed another officer coming out of a back room. “But Sheriff Steele here will.”
The stubby sheriff paused. Fluorescent bulbs buzzing above reflected light off his shiny bald head as it bobbled up and down to study her and Stallings. “Why do I get the feeling I’ve stumbled into a speed trap?” Steele adjusted his belt which secured a sidearm peeking under his paunch.
She extended the bear toward the sheriff. “I’m in a hurry. And you’re armed. So why don’t you take this in to Mr. Reardon for me?” She smiled her brightest smile and hoped it carried enough charm to convince him to do it.
The sheriff tilted back his hat. “And who might you be, little lady? A love interest?”
Val coughed out a laugh.
Stallings, on his way out, paused and snorted as he left the facility through the lobby, which boasted a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.
“N-no. Certainly not a love interest. I—” Val cleared her throat of the sudden glob of fear.
The sheriff raised snowy brows and bounced on the balls of his feet in an impatient gesture. He made an exaggerated motion of eyeing his watch. “I’m not sure I’ve got the time unless you’ve got more info. I’m friends with the stubborn cuss’s old man. Jest dropped by to check on him. Who are you?”
“I’m the woman who hit him. And destroyed his bike.”
A blank look. Then the sheriff looked her up and down—and laughed. His cheeks and chin jiggled as he laughed some more. Then he clamped a grandfatherly palm on her shoulder. “Tell you what, miss. I promise to take him this little bear if you’ll promise not to be a stranger. Come back and visit Vince when he ain’t so rip-roarin’ mad.”
“Um…err…okay. Why?”
A jovial twinkle lit his aged eyes. “Because once he cools down enough and gets past being so blasted mad that he can’t see straight, I think he’ll see that you’re a mite too perty to stay mad at.” He winked, tipped his hat and reached for the bear. “Any message you want me to give?”
“Just what’s on the card. That I’m very sorry. And fully willing to pay for all the damages. My contact information is included.”
He nodded and headed toward a partially closed room that voices wafted from. She turned, pausing as a group of massive men strode out of the room to stand in the hall near where the sheriff stepped in to talk to Vince. No yelling or things crashing. Maybe Vince was taking the bear, and her apology, okay.
“Can I help you, miss?” One of the daunting men approached. His name tag read “Peña.”
“I’ve been helped. Thanks.”
But the stocky Hispanic man didn’t budge.
Curious glances hurtled her way from the imposing group of muscle-bound men who undoubtedly wondered what she was doing standing there staring at the door of a room she imagined housed Vince. Still no sound coming from inside.
She wished she had assurance Vince would be okay with her coming to his work.
“Excuse me,” she said to the one whose eyes held the deepest shade of compassion and blue. His name tag read “Briggs.” He seemed much less intimidating than the rest.
“Yes?” The man stepped forward.
“I’m wondering if you can tell me how Mr. Reardon is faring.”
The other guys stood in the wide connecting hall opposite the table area and studied her. Then each other. Heavy silence fell. Stark. Foreboding. Like a cell block door slam. The hefty weight of all the eyes bearing down on her settled over her like a judge’s declaration of life without parole.
Shades of suspicion turned Briggs’s narrowing eyes into a treacherous tint of blue. “Who wants to know?”
She swallowed, feeling suddenly surrounded by dangerous men—a protective band of brothers—who had to be part of Mr. Reardon’s pararescue team. No other explanation for why they’d be so physically daunting.
She refused to wilt. Her chin lifted. So did the man’s. Which rattled her like a box of banging gavels. Never let them see you sweat. She applied the courtroom principle to her body language.
“I do.” She straightened her shoulders but softened her poker face and stuck out her hand, hoping he’d take it.
“And you are?” he asked as he shook her hand.
“Valentina Russo. My friends call me Val.”
His eyes flashed recognition. His fingers snapped in the air. A slow grin came to his face. “The woman who crashed into his bike.”
She licked parched lips. So they’d heard her name. Couldn’t be good. Especially since the emphasis landed on her crashing the bike rather than Vince. “Yes.”
“I’m Airman Briggs. But you can call me Nolan.” Thankfully, his demeanor softened.
She nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
“What can we help you with?”
“I just wanted to be sure he’s okay. Understandably, the hospital wouldn’t give out information when I called last week.”
Nolan didn’t respond.
She plucked nervously at her earring. “I haven’t been able to get him off my mind.”
Nolan grinned. “The bear you sent in there? Or Vince?”
Gentle humor in his eyes broke her nervousness. She loosed a laugh, which was more relief. “Vince.”
Nolan nodded slowly and appeared to ponder her deeply. “How’d you know where to find him?”
“Apparently your PJ team holds celebrity status in these parts. I asked around town and was sent to the B and B. A lady named Sarah directed me here.”
“Did you say Sarah?” Nolan looked at the older man on their team, who set his clipboard down and came close. His face reflected acute interest in the conversation.
“Yes. She guided me here, saying I’d probably find Vince here.”
The redheaded teammate snickered. “Guided, wow. Sounds like something someone would do with an airborne missile.”
Val stared at him. “I’m sure Sarah meant no harm by guide—I mean sending me here.”
The older man grinned. “Relax, ma’am. Sarah’s my fiancée.”
Nolan smiled. “Vince is tough. He’ll be all right. No permanent injury. But I think it’d be better for you both if you didn’t come around him.”
The man whose tag identified him as Petrowski, and who’d proudly proclaimed Sarah as his fiancée, moved to stand alongside Nolan. “Least, not right now.” A slight grin smoothed rigid lines from his face.
“It’s been a week since the wreck. You think he’s still that angry?” Val asked.
“Now, now. Calm down, airman. I’m just the messenger,” came from inside the back room. Sounded like the sheriff’s voice. Only a little higher-pitched. Just then a growl gurgled from the room. The next instant the stuffed bear whizzed by her, hitting the opposite corridor wall.
Nolan grinned at her. “Apparently so. Give him another week. At least.” His face grew serious. “He really loved that bike.”
Which she’d learned from Eagle’s Nest’s mechanic was damaged beyond repair.
Nothing is beyond repair in Your eyes, God. Not things. Not people. Help me at least give him part of his bike back.
Maybe she should follow through with contacting Vince’s sister and have her try to use its salvaged parts to rebuild Vince’s bike. How wide was the rift between her and Vince? Would the sister even be willing?
If so, it would likely take most of Val’s savings to do this. Savings she’d been counting on to buy a van and rent a facility to entertain the at-risk youth she’d moved here to help. Oh well. She’d just have to be more creative in thinking up alternate fun activities.
Her insurance would probably cover most of the cost of a new bike, but it was doubtful that it would stretch to the custom rebuilding. If it did, the insurance company would want to choose the repairman rather than letting Val use Vince’s sister. If not, she’d just have to pick another place to take teens prone to trouble. Continue the work her aunt had started then grown too ill to finish.
Not to mention she had a hard phone call to make.
Her dad would blow his bad toupee when he found out she’d wrecked the car he and Mom had bought for her when she’d passed her bar exam. A ridiculously expensive car that symbolized prestige and privilege. An image she hadn’t enjoyed growing up under. He’d think she’d wrecked it on purpose. Ludicrous, but such was the way with her often eccentric and unreasonable father.
“Anything else?” Nolan’s voice clashed into her thoughts.
“Maybe. I wonder if you could tell me how to reach Vince’s sister.”
Nolan’s raised his brows. “Lady, you really do have a death wish, don’t you?”
The looks on the rest of the men’s faces said the same. The worst possible thing she could do was contact Vince’s sister.
The stern warning in Nolan’s eyes suggested doing so would be like tossing gasoline on the flame of Vince’s rage.
“But that’s the only hope of rebuilding his bike like his brother had it. The officer at the scene, Stallings, said she designed the bike Vince’s brother hand-built.”
“She did. But that was before the brother’s death and subsequent rift that ripped their family apart. Trust me. You’d be better off to walk away from this altogether.”
One flash of memory of the deep void of emptiness and pain in Vince’s darker-than-midnight eyes as he lay on the wet asphalt, and Val knew that walking away from this was exactly opposite of what God was asking her to do.
Trust Me.
Only it wasn’t Nolan but God impressing this upon her. An inner voice. Remembering the battle in Vince’s face as she’d prayed. Tiny sparks of hope in the most tortured eyes she’d ever seen.
She’d looked deeper.
And God had allowed her to see.
And Vince had been too momentarily unguarded to stop her. What she’d seen was a little boy wounded by life and growing up into a hard and cold brooding man who refused to feel or even act as though he could feel. That kind of ultra self-protective pain.
She saw it in the faces of abused and neglected children she lived her life to help. And in the dullness coating the eyes of teens nearly too late to help.
And she’d seen it in Vince’s eyes.
“I’m sorry. But I can’t walk away. Not from this.”
Chapter Four
She had some nerve.
Vince stormed from the back room. His team tensed. Petrowski stepped between him and Miss Distraction. Mass distraction rather. A weapon of mass distraction. Yeah. That’s what she was.
And he wanted no part of her.
Vince didn’t care why she’d come.
Only cared to see to it that she didn’t come back.
He let incisive anger fly from his eyes as he surged purposefully toward her.
Fear came alive in her face, making him pause momentarily. Her expression slammed memories back of seeing his sister’s face like that when their dad came crashing home in one of his drunken rages. Vince halted, unable to unleash the verbal lashing his tongue longed to give a hot moment ago.
As if sensing his sudden calm, his team inched away, except for Joel and Aaron, who no doubt hung out either from curiosity or at the risk of seeing if they’d have to step in and referee.
Vince unclenched his fists. “Why are you here?”
“I—I came to say I’m sorry.”
“You already did. About seven hundred times. Doesn’t change anything.”
“What can I say to that?” She raised her arms loosely and let them fall hard at her side. “I just hoped it would make a difference this time.”
Pure frustration. Not put on.
Honest. Tough. Vulnerable.
How she was all three at the same time, he had no idea. He just knew she was.
He notched his chin up. “What do you want from me?” He’d said it so calmly, the surprise in her eyes mirrored how he felt inside.
Thick black lashes on gorgeous gray eyes fluttered. “I—I don’t—I’m not sure.” Backing toward the door, she eyed the clock behind him. “I’m sorry that I came. I didn’t mean to make matters worse.” She turned and fled as fast as her high heels would take her.
She looked back only once. Regret sliced through him. Her trembling hands told him he’d scared and humiliated her.
Same way his old man used to do to him and his siblings. And he got the idea Miss Distraction was like his sister in the way of tears. Rarely did Victoria Reardon cry.
Vic. How he missed her.
Double remorse slugged his gut.
Once for his sister, Victoria.
Once for Valentina Russo.
A protectiveness normally reserved for his sister rose up in Vince for Miss Distraction. He started after her.
Petrowski’s strong arm swung out, blocking him. “No. She’s upset. Let me go.”
Knowing Aaron operated more diplomatically, and not wanting to scare Miss Distraction further, Vince planted his eager feet to the floor and nodded.
On Aaron’s way to the door, he paused to peer at Vince. “You didn’t hear Stallings explain her reason for the accident, did you?”
“No.” In fact, he hadn’t wanted to hear. So he’d poked his iPod nubs in his ears and jammed up the volume on his rip-your-ears-off hard rock.
But the terse look in Petrowski’s eyes told him he needed to know.
Vince shifted. “What?”
“Her aunt toppled down stairs on a medical scooter. Miss Russo received word of the accident seconds before entering that intersection.”
Compassion trickled past the hard earth of Vince’s anger. “She all right? The old lady, I mean?”
“Not sure yet. Stallings said she’s in surgery again today. So the young woman’s understandably under intense pressure right now. Last I heard the aunt was swinging between grave and critical condition.”
Petrowski didn’t need to say the rest. That Vince needed to go easy on her.
Sorrow settled in. “Aaron, I didn’t know, didn’t try to. I’ll make it right.”
Halfway out the door, Petrowski nodded. “I know you will. Mad as you are, your true colors can always be counted on to come through.”
That statement stunned Vince. Mostly because he didn’t see himself that way and didn’t feel he deserved the grace and understanding riding Petrowski’s words as he headed to the lot.
In fact, he’d been a complete jerk to Miss Distraction. And for the first time since the wreck, he felt a wiggle of wrong about it.
Vince moved to watch Petrowski leaving out the massive wall of windows that offered a breathtaking panoramic view of the sky he loved to languish in.
An inviting brilliant blue today, it canopied the vast acreage of Refuge Drop Zone’s grounds. It housed miles of public and private areas in which they did things as a team for hours each day. Things ranging from rigorous exercise to practicing nighttime military HALO jumps and daytime training to all-out fun with leisure landings.
Adjacent to that closed-off area resided the acreage where they conducted classes meant to train novice skydiving patrons proper body mechanics before they learned to solo or tandem skydive.
The space between Miss Distraction and Petrowski closed rapidly as Aaron sprinted to catch the woman, still rushing across the large lot to her car. She was liable to break her ankle wearing those spiked heels in the gravel part beyond the enormous asphalt section.
It had cost Joel a huge chunk of his savings putting that asphalt in when he’d bought the place after their team stationed in Refuge. Now the team was raising and saving money to help Joel pave the rest.
Why had Miss Distraction parked so far from the building? For exercise maybe? He could tell she did that regularly, too, because a woman didn’t get those shapely legs and toned arms solely by being a desk jockey. Not that he’d noticed. Really.
Miss Distraction indeed.
His nickname for her held sudden duplicity. Sure his sarcastic mind had made it up initially because her distraction was the cause of his disaster. But, watching her move in ways he couldn’t help but appreciate as a man…Miss Distraction took on a whole new meaning.
Vince grew aware of the increasing weight of his teammates’ gazes. Choosing to ignore them rather than contend verbally or mentally with what their curious and knowing expressions insinuated, he went to the back room and grabbed his helmet and the keys to his old bike.
“Where you going, dude?” Chance stepped inside the doorway.
“To check on the lady’s aunt. I feel bad now for what I said.”
“Rain’s in the forecast. I’d feel better if you didn’t ride your old bike. Le’me drive you.”
“Sure you don’t mind?”
“Nah. Be glad to. Haven’t had lunch, anyway. We’ll grab some grub after we go see about the young lady.”
“Correction. Her aunt.”
Chance jangled his car keys and grinned. “Right.”
Vince cradled his helmet in the crook of his elbow and hawkeyed Chance. “Don’t make more out of this than it is, Garrison.”
Chance’s dimples deepened but he pressed the palms of his hands gently in the air. “’Course not.”
“I mean it.”
Chance laughed as they stepped into the sunshine. He eyed Vince and coughed out a couple more laughs.
Irritation dogged Vince. “Mind telling me what’s so funny?”
“She’s got your mind all twisted up.”
“Does not.”
Chance paused, snorting. He dipped his head toward Vince’s arm. “Then why do you still have the helmet? My driving’s not that bad.”
Vince pressed his lips together to form a worthy excuse or a solvent retort, but nothing came to mind.
Instead, he felt his own sudden grin give way to an out-loud laugh. His earlobes heated.
Chance stopped. “Wow. Dude. This is a first.”
Vince scowled. “What?”
Chance leaned in with focus. “I think you’re actually blushing. Wow. The abominable Vince has feelings.”
“So what? Everyone gets embarrassed sometimes.”
“Really? You’ve been embarrassed?”
He laughed. “Once.”
“When?”
When was the last time he’d been embarrassed? “Eighth grade when snooty girls in class teased me for wearing the same sets of outdated clothes every week, that’s when.”
“Ah, dude. Kids can be so mean.”
“Yeah, well, when there was not enough money for food, new clothes weren’t even on the radar.” Not on Vince’s lawn-mowing and paper-route salaries.
One of the snooty schoolgirls’ dads owned a law firm in town, too. Figured.
Sympathy showed in Chance’s normally serene eyes. “Sorry, man. I had a good upbringing and loving parents. I can’t imagine how hard your childhood was.”
The pity in his friend and fellow teammate’s voice caused Vince’s stomach to ball up into a cringe. “Look, whatever. I’m just…distracted these days.” Vince set his helmet on the floorboard of Chance’s red Cherokee.
Same shade as Miss Distraction’s glimmery lipstick today.
Not that he’d noticed.
Chance tossed his head back and laughed. Good to hear it. Honestly, the guy was so quiet normally it took a vocal excavator to get anything out of his mouth.
The youngest PJ on the team at twenty-five, Chance was painfully shy, but for some reason, not so much around Vince. The two of them plus Brockton, who was a year younger than Vince’s twenty-seven, were the only three remaining single guys on the team, so they tended to band together and hang out more these days.
“You know you really shouldn’t have thrown that cute little bear.”
“Cute?” Vince pulled a face. “You know I’m not into cutesy things.”
“Not even the woman?” Chance navigated the Jeep from the DZ lot.
“Not even.” Besides, not that he’d admit it to Garrison yet, but the woman was beyond the realm of cute. Make-a-man-gawk gorgeous was more like it. Intelligent eyes. Soothing voice. Authoritative demeanor.
Transparent faith, something he secretly respected in anyone, even if he didn’t share it. Bold, heartfelt prayers. She’d talked to God like Joel and Aaron and the rest of the Christians on his team did right before missions. Like God was their friend or something.
Yeah. Miss Distraction was all that. And probably more.
And suddenly, Vince wanted to know the “more.”
But, remembering the hurt and humiliation in her vulnerable eyes back at the DZ, he’d likely bombed the foundation of any amicable bridge with her.
And if she were anything like his sister, she’d never cross it on her own. He’d have to make the first move.
Never ever had he such a strong desire to risk those shaky first steps.
“Never ever,” Val seethed on the way to her car. Never again would she subject herself to this. She blinked back angry tears.
She’d only seen the man down. The lethal creature storming from the back room looked nothing like the vulnerable one on the road that day in the rain. He’d been intimidating enough that she’d taken two steps back for every step he’d taken toward her.
The man who’d said he was Sarah’s fiancé had shaken his head at Vince. Subtle, yet Vince stopped in his tracks. But the look in his eyes said he was none too happy about her being there.
Never would she look back.
Trust Me.
“How? When he can’t even stand to look at me?” She flung her rental-car door open and threw herself in the seat. Her hand twisted the key when a knock caused her heart to jump. She removed her hand from her throat and rolled down the window.
Sarah’s husband-to-be leaned in. “Miss, I apologize on behalf of Vince.”
“He has every right to be angry. I shouldn’t have come.”
He knelt. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
Why did the compassion in his voice cause hers to clog? “Give Sarah my regards. And tell her thank you.”
Aaron eyed the DZ then Val. “You could tell her yourself.”
Val eyed her clock. Two minutes more and she had to leave. She shut off the ignition. “What are you proposing?”
“Sarah’s also new to town. She could use a friend.”
“How do you know I’m new?”
“West Coast accent for one thing. For another, your license plates are out of state. Saw your car when I took Vince to check on his bike.”
She nodded. “How’d he swallow seeing it?”
Aaron grinned. “How do you think?”
“Probably like a big bowl of razor blades.”
He laughed and handed her a business card with caricatures on it. “Give Sarah a call. And give Vince time. His bark is worse than his bite. Most days, anyway.”
She laughed. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”
He smiled. “There are barbecues every weekend at my place or Joel’s. Sarah’d love to bring a friend. All the other guys’ wives and girlfriends have a good friend. Though they include her, Sarah is shy and feels like a fifth wheel. That she spoke to you at all proves she felt a connection with you.”
“Interesting. I felt that with her, too.”
“I’ll let her know you’ll be calling.”
She shielded her eyes from the southern Illinois sun and met his gaze. “Why do I get the feeling you want me to try to get through to Vince?”
A confident gleam entered his eyes. “Probably for the same reason that I get the feeling you can.”
His words paused her heart and soul.
Get through to him she wanted to. But only God could move the mountain of this man’s anger toward her and all that she stood for. Vince’s face flashed in her mind.
No matter how hard, she would obey.
“I’ll give Sarah a call.”
“And I’ll give her a heads-up that you’ll be coming to the barbecue.”
“Hey, now. All I said was that I’d call.”
“Prayerfully consider it. It’ll mean a lot to her to have another woman to pal around with.”
“How do you know I pray?”
He snorted. “Trust me, Vince let us know.”
“Speaking of Vince, will you be warning him that I’m coming? You know, in case he wants to stay home or fling himself in front of a moving planet or otherwise orbit himself out of his misery.”
Aaron chuckled. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” He knuckled her door frame. “Besides, he drowns his misery in Michelob.”
“Ah. The old alcohol vice.”
“Yeah, he pretty much never leaves home without it. He always drinks at the barbecues, which means he’s normally more subdued, which could be good for you. And as long as he doesn’t try to drive himself home, we don’t give him too much grief. We know God’ll change him when Vince finally gives himself over to Him.”
“If I show up without warning he’ll know he’s been set up.”
“So be it. But you have no less than seven third-degree black-belted bodyguards, guaranteed.”
She laughed. “That should make me feel better.”
His grin faded and his face turned serious. “He might scare the daylights out of you. But he’d never in a million years hurt you. At least not physically.”
What did that mean? Vince was a heartbreaker?
“Well, I have no intention of getting close to him that way.” He’d never let her, for one thing. For another, he far from acted like a Christian.
Petrowski studied her so carefully that the urge to win the case of convincing him overpowered her.
“Trust me. You don’t have to worry about me falling for the guy or him falling for me. He strikes me as the type who goes from zero to mad in three-point-five seconds. And I’m so laid-back I’m horizontal.”
She shook her head and started her car. “The Mississippi would move backward before the two of us would fall for one another.”
Petrowski laughed. “It’s happened before, you know.”
“What? A woman like me falling for a man like Vince? Or a man like Vince falling for a woman like me?”
“I meant the Mississippi running backward.”
“Really, now?”
“Yup. During an earthquake along the New Madrid fault.”
Even so, it was going to take something stronger than her to run the river of this man’s rage away from her rather than toward. After arriving home, Val set down her briefcase, called to check on Elsie, left Sarah a voice mail then climbed into bed.
Creator of heaven and earth, move the mountain of this man’s anger.
The next day at the hospital, violent shaking rattled Val’s water glass off the table beside Elsie’s bed. She shot up, eyeing Val with fear from her transfer chair.
“It’s okay, Elsie.” At least Val hoped so. The floor swayed several inches left and right and left and right. She pushed Elsie toward the doorway barely comprehending what this was.
Earthquakes in southern Illinois? She’d experienced—even expected them—in California. Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought they’d have them here.
The early-morning shimmy concluded by the time she crouched in the doorway beside Elsie’s chair and knelt with her Bible to her chest. She hadn’t even realized she’d grabbed it. The pendulum-swinging floor paused. Elsie drew a relieved breath and relaxed her grip from the chair.
Val exited Elsie’s room to find people in the hall looking bedraggled and confused. “Earthquake?” Val asked.
A family member to Elsie’s hospital neighbor to the left approached. “Yeah. Worst one I recall in years.”
“So this isn’t normal?”
“Not really. Quakes that size are extremely rare.”
Val recalled her conversation with Aaron.
And burst out laughing.
A single mom Val recognized from her neighborhood and who had a teen named Logan approached. “You probably think we’re amateurs because you’re from California, huh?”
Val wondered what the woman was doing at the hospital. “No, that’s not it. I just found it ironic that I had a conversation mere hours ago about earthquakes.”
Earthquakes…a woman like her falling for a man like Vince.
Never happen. Not in a million years.
Petrowski’s and her words wafted back into her mind. Val eyed the sky through the window back inside Elsie’s room. I hope this isn’t a foreshadowing of things to come. But I’ll consider myself sufficiently warned. Elsie eyed her curiously but didn’t ask.
After waking before her alarm clock in the morning, Val flung the covers off and prepared to go visit Aunt Elsie again.
Her phone rang. A number she didn’t recognize popped up. “Hello,” she answered, not giving her name. Since she was a prosecutor, she kept her name, numbers and addresses unlisted.
“Yes, I’m Sarah Graham and I’m returning Val Russo’s call.”
“Sarah! Hey, this is Val.”
“I wanted to catch you before you rushed off to work. I hope it’s not too early.”
“No, today is Wednesday so I work through client files from home.” Val caught sight of her hair in the mirror on the way to get her clothes. “Ew! What a fright.”
“The files?”
Val laughed. “No, I know better than to go to bed with wet hair. But frankly, yesterday left me mentally and physically exhausted.”
“Aaron told me.”
Val developed an instant liking to Sarah and was determined to build a friendship. She got ready as they chattered on and on.
“Hopefully today will be a better day for Elsie,” Val said into her cell to Sarah on her way out the door.
“And for you,” Sarah said with a chuckle.
Val adjusted her rearview mirror. “As long as I don’t have another run-in with a certain tall, dark and dangerous special operative who’s homicidally livid over losing his bike, I think I’ll be okay.”
Sarah laughed. “I better let you go since you’re heading to the hospital. And we know what happened the last time you drove while talking on a phone.”
Val sighed. “Yes, but thankfully I have a hands-free now. Still, I better sign off. Promise to call you later.”
“Especially since I have a feeling you will see Tall, Dark and Dangerous again.” Sarah made an exaggerated throat-clearing noise.
“Is that a drastic hint that you know something I don’t?” Val pulled out of her driveway.
“Yes, but this time, you don’t need to be afraid. You’ll want to hear what he’s coming to say.”
Chapter Five
Val felt Vince’s approach before she saw him.
Her heart began to pound, but not just from fear. More from the fact that he’d actually made an effort to come talk to her for the third day in a row.
She’d missed his visit yesterday, but when she’d called Sarah-soon-to-be-Petrowski, she’d casually mentioned that Vince had tried to find Val after she’d left the DZ that first day, then again at the hospital yesterday.
That he’d been actively trying to find her caused her heart to speed in ways that ought to be illegal.
His massive presence consumed the hallway and her senses as he moved silently to stand next to where she stood in front of an ICU window. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he said without looking at her.
“What?” Val stared straight ahead, too. His nearness exuded barely chained power. But she didn’t get the idea his persona housed hostility as much as it did passion for whatever he’d come here to say to her.
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