by Karen Kirst
According to Derek, Brady had set high standards for himself in high school and college. That drive had carried over to his military career and had made him into one of the best pilots Derek had worked alongside.
But career achievements couldn’t take the place of human connection and meaningful relationships. With his best friend gone, Brady had likely closed himself off even more.
The distinctive thump of the rotator blades rippled the brisk air. She gathered her sweater lapels closer together as, one by one, the gray twin-engine helos landed on the tarmac. The blades slowed and the evening air eventually stilled. The marines began to disembark. Even with his helmet hiding his fair hair, she picked him out from the rest. There was no mistaking the lean build, erect posture and impatient stride. He and his weapons officer removed their helmets and started toward the hangar, conversing on the way.
The sunset’s last hurrah washed him in iridescent light, highlighting his gorgeous facial structure and rendering his hair liquid gold. His olive-green flight suit showed off his broad shoulders, thick biceps and slim waist. Olivia stood immobile, engrossed in him. She couldn’t look away. It was as if she’d been in a semi-awake state for eleven months, going through the motions but not truly alive. And now, suddenly, she was awake again. Colors were richer. Smells more complex. Sounds more nuanced.
Olivia tracked his approach, her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth.
Why him, Lord? Why now?
Guilt slammed into her. It was too soon. Brady thought it was too soon. His reaction to Zach’s interest in her was swift and complete. He would be appalled if he knew she was seeing him in a new light.
I’m sorry, Derek. I had no idea I’d find myself in this strange place...thinking your standoffish best friend is attractive.
She could—and would—ignore it.
When Brady finally noticed her, his brows slammed together and his gait quickened.
“Olivia, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I found something of Derek’s that he wanted you to have.” Aware that Brady hadn’t greeted his commanding officer because of his concern for her, she glanced at George.
Brady corrected his oversight and saluted the other man.
“Was it a good mission?” George asked.
“It was successful, sir.” Brady answered his superior, but his blue-gray gaze remained fixed on Olivia.
George put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s good to see you.” To Brady, he said, “Bring Olivia to our next gathering. The other guys and their wives would love to catch up.”
“Yes, sir.”
When he was out of earshot, Brady lifted his hand to show her a thick folder. “I have to drop this off at the other hangar. Walk with me?”
She fell into step beside him and tried desperately not to notice his enticing cologne. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I thought there might’ve been more trouble.” He adjusted the bulky brown flight vest worn over his suit. “You didn’t come here alone, did you?”
“Corporal Baker brought me.”
They left the large tarmac behind, walked along a narrow strip that linked the hangars and entered another tarmac area. This one was smaller and held about half a dozen helicopters.
“You said you found something?”
She stopped, and he did, too. “Hold out your hand.”
His forehead furrowing, he did as she instructed. Closing her fingers over the dog tags in her pocket, she was about to pull them out when a distant pop splintered the silence.
The next thing she knew, Brady was shoving her to the ground and shielding her with his body.
Bullets dug into the asphalt.
Her enemy had breached the base.
NINE
Another bullet whizzed over their heads with inches to spare.
They had to seek cover.
Brady latched onto Olivia’s hand and tugged. “Let’s go!”
They scrambled to their feet and, together, dashed to the nearest barrier, an aircraft tow tractor. Not ideal. He needed to get her to the hangar, but it was too far away. Too much open space between them and safety. The buildings’ exterior lights were flickering on, thanks to the deepening shadows.
“Where is he?” she demanded, hunkered beside him. “The woods?”
“Yes.”
He cringed when glass exploded. There went the tow vehicle’s windshield. This guy had a high-powered rifle, and so far, no one else was aware of the attack. The hangar was empty, and any guys still in the office hadn’t heard it. There was no reaction from the more distant hangars. No alarms sounding. They were on their own.
“Stay here.”
She wouldn’t release his hand. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to get the door of the tow tractor open. If the keys are in the ignition, we’ll try and drive out of range.”
She licked her dry lips. “Okay.”
“You have to let go,” he reminded, lightly squeezing her hand.
She instantly released him.
“Remember, make yourself as small as possible.”
He crawled along the length of the short, squat vehicle and, keeping his body behind the frame, quickly unlatched the door. Another shot blasted through the air, and the mirror attached to the door he’d just opened burst into pieces.
Olivia cried out.
Heart racing, blood boiling, he peered into the cab. No keys.
Thumping his fist against the frame, he probed their surroundings for another option. They needed an exit strategy.
His gaze swept over the woods. Ten, maybe fifteen steps and they’d be there. The shadows were thicker, and the tight network of trees would hinder the shooter’s accuracy.
“We have to run,” he told her. “He hits the gas tank on this tractor or one of the helos, things get messy fast.”
“I trust you, Brady.”
He couldn’t begin to measure the magnitude of that statement. “We stick together.”
She took his outstretched hand. At his nod, they bolted across the tarmac. Time slowed. Bullets pelted the tow truck, then shifted to the trees they were running toward. Bark splintered nearby.
They entered the wooded area and headed away from the hangars. The ground was soft from recent rain, and Brady worried that her sprained ankle would give way. Weaving between the trees in the dark, not being able to see the terrain, was an added hazard.
The onslaught temporarily ceased as the shooter gave chase.
Olivia clung to his hand with an iron grip. “The marina’s not far from here,” she said, her breaths coming in spurts.
The marina had a rental space with kayaks and other water-sports equipment. “If we can take cover inside the building, I can get out a call or text to the air control tower.”
The report of a rifle echoed through the understory. The limb above her head cracked and swept down. Olivia yelped and ducked. She lost her footing and would’ve fallen if he hadn’t hooked an arm around her waist and tugged her behind the tree. She gripped his shoulder to regain her balance.
In the distance, a siren wailed. Was that for their emergency or someone else’s?
Either way, it could spook the shooter.
They turned and forged ahead. Despite her injured ankle, Olivia kept pace with him. They encountered a stream and splashed through the icy water. He tripped on a jutting root and caught himself on the bank. A jagged, broken-off limb gouged into his palm.
Olivia heard his exclamation. “You okay?”
He shook off the pain and clambered up the other side. “Fine.”
Minutes later, they jogged across a deserted road and entered the waterfront park. The playgrounds sat silent, the parking lots empty. This place wouldn’t be busy until spring.
“There.” She pointed to the outline of a
long, rectangular building. A single electric pole shed light on cement picnic tables and short docks extending into the river.
He led her in a circuitous route, keeping to the shadows.
They were almost to the building when a window shattered. Olivia shielded her head with her arms. Brady put his arm around her shoulders and guided her around to the back. Rows of yellow kayaks hung suspended on wooden frames. He heard shoes pounding the pavement.
Olivia stiffened. Brady steered her into the tight space between the frames and put himself between her and the shooter. Seconds dragged into minutes. Terrible tension built in the air between them, on the verge of exploding. His muscles quivered with suppressed energy.
A rock skittered past them. A strangled sound emanated from her.
Brady inched closer. He slid his uninjured hand beneath her braid and cupped her nape. His cheek grazed hers. “Shh.”
She clutched either side of his waist, fingers bunching in the material. Her fine, vanilla-scented hair tickled his chin. Being this close to her was highly distracting.
Another footfall. Closer this time.
Could Olivia hear his heartbeat? Could the enemy? Because it was a roaring thunder in his ears.
He had to act. Had to do something. If the shooter discovered their hiding place, it was game over.
He began to ease out of her grasp. She snagged his vest.
“Trust me,” he whispered in her ear.
A shudder worked its way through her. “Don’t go.”
“No choice.”
He carefully turned and inched toward the opening. Standing there, motionless and barely breathing, he saw a man’s shadow pass within inches of their hiding place.
Brady pounced. Tackled him to the ground. They rolled downhill, tussling, each trying to get the upper hand. Where was the gun? He got an elbow to the face. Blood gushed from his nose. Fire burning through his veins, he landed two blows of his own. This guy had hurt Olivia. He was not going to escape.
Feminine voices registered. “Stop! Both of you. Captain, let him go!”
A light beam passed over them. Uniform. Marine cammies.
Brady jumped off him and held up his hands. The flashlight holder, a red-haired female marine, jogged over and, grabbing the other guy’s hand, propelled him to his feet. Olivia was two steps behind her.
“Brady, this is Cat,” Olivia said. “Corporal Baker. And that is Lance Corporal Franklin.”
Corporal Baker nodded a curt greeting and bounced the light between them. “Lance Corporal Franklin, didn’t anyone teach you to watch your six?”
“I thought you had my back, Corporal.” He cast a wary glance at Brady.
“I would have if you hadn’t blazed ahead.” Corporal Baker wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Just think if he’d been the enemy.” She shifted her gaze to Brady. “I was waiting in my patrol car when I heard the alert about shots fired. Franklin was nearby, and he and I joined the search.”
“I apologize for the ambush,” Brady said, chest heaving. “I thought you were the shooter. He was here five minutes ago. Did you see him?”
The corporal frowned. “We came in the second entrance. No sign of him.” She started up the incline. “We’ll give you a ride to the hangar.”
“We have to look for him,” he countered. “We can’t let him leave the base.”
“There are others searching for him,” she shot over her shoulder. “I have orders to bring you to headquarters, and the one giving them outranks you.”
Brady tamped down the tide of frustration. In this career, sometimes orders were in direct opposition to his instincts.
At the patrol car, Brady and Olivia scooted into the back seat. The overhead dome light illuminated the lance corporal’s black eye. Brady winced, feeling guilty, then caught a glance of his own bloodied nose in the rearview mirror. The younger marine had given as good as he’d got.
Corporal Baker handed a wad of napkins over the seat. Olivia’s eyes were dark with concern as she watched him try to stem the bleeding.
“Your hand will need attention, too,” she said.
“Right now the adrenaline rush is distracting me.”
“It will fade soon, and then you’ll be in pain.” Leaning forward, she touched the corporal’s shoulder. “Will there be a medic on scene?”
“We’ll arrange for one.”
“It’s a scrape and bloody nose,” he said, unaccustomed to anyone caring about his welfare.
Relaxing against the cushion, she took his injured hand and cradled it. “I hate to tell you, but you’ve got splinters embedded in a gash that will most likely need stitches.”
The thrill her tender touch incited wasn’t right. In his mind, she belonged to Derek and always would.
He gently disengaged and rested his hand on his thigh. “How’s your ankle?”
She clasped her hands together in her lap. “It’s sore, but I don’t think I did further damage.”
“We’ll have the medic take a look at it, too.”
During the brief trip between the marina and the hangars, they encountered multiple MPs. They were on the hunt. The tables had turned, and the shooter was now the target. He wouldn’t take the obvious exit. Most likely, he’d used the river to access the base.
They were ushered inside the hangar and up the stairs, to the offices on the second floor. His CO was the first to meet them. He did not look pleased.
His flinty gaze bounced between Brady and Olivia. “Which one of you is going to tell me exactly what’s going on?”
* * *
Unable to sit still, Olivia paced the length of the boardroom-style table and nursed a cup of bitter coffee. Her gaze returned repeatedly to Brady’s face. He was seated in the end chair closest to the meeting room door. A medic sat on one side of him and was painstakingly picking out the wooden slivers in his palm. His teeth were clenched. His other fist was balled atop his rigid thigh. She didn’t like his pallor. Nor did she like that the lieutenant colonel was tearing into him for something that wasn’t his fault.
“You should’ve told me what was going on,” George said again, a vein bulging in his temple. “You brought danger to the flight line and every single person in the vicinity.”
“No, he didn’t.”
Both men looked at her in surprise.
“I’m the one who should’ve told you.” Setting her coffee on the table, she said, “Brady is not to blame. The trouble that I’m in has nothing to do with him.”
George’s eyes softened. “I knew something was wrong when I saw the MP with you. But you’re mistaken. Whether you want to admit it or not, he is involved. Brady was the target tonight, not you.”
Brady’s brows tugged together, and his lips clamped closed.
Olivia used a chair for support. In the race for survival, she hadn’t stopped to think. The lieutenant colonel might be right. “He couldn’t have known I’d be here,” she murmured. “It was a last-minute decision. Even if he followed me here, he wouldn’t have had time to get into position. Brady, on the other hand...”
His blue-gray eyes were stormy. “Don’t blame yourself. You have no control over this guy.”
George sighed, the red flush of anger receding. “He must’ve decided to rid himself of Olivia’s protector. With you out of the way, his task would become more achievable.”
“He’s done his homework,” Brady said. “He found out somehow that I would be flying tonight.”
“That’s not reassuring.” George kneaded his temples. “I don’t want to believe that anyone on this base would give up sensitive information for a payout.”
Brady winced and jerked his hand out of the medic’s reach.
“Sorry, sir. The numbing shot I gave you should kick in any minute.”
Olivia strode to his side and spoke to the ginger-haired stranger. “
Why don’t you stop what you’re doing and give it time to work?”
He looked undecided until George ordered him to fetch him coffee.
Brady gave her a strained smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did.”
The blood had been cleaned from his face, and his nose didn’t appear to have been broken. She dearly longed to brush his hair off his forehead, to test the texture of the shining strands. She wished she had the power to drive away his pain and discomfort.
MPs arrived to take their statements. The medic also returned, finished cleaning out Brady’s wound and stitched the gash closed. When everyone had left, George told them he was going to order sandwiches and drinks.
“Get comfortable,” he ordered. “You won’t be free to leave until every acre of this base has been cleared.”
The door whooshed closed, leaving them alone in the meeting room. Brady left his chair and walked around to where she was sitting. Swiping a marker from a container of pens, he sank down beside her and gestured to her cast. “May I?”
She settled her arm on the table and watched him print his name. He tapped the fish drawing and smiled. “Nice touch. I would attempt a helicopter, but it wouldn’t be recognizable.”
When she didn’t respond, his smile faded. “What are you thinking about?”
“I hate that you’re here with me.”
His gaze fell away, and he clutched the marker.
“I hate that you got dragged into this mess,” she amended, clearing her throat. “But I’m also glad that it’s you and not Derek.”
His head shot up. “I don’t understand.”
“If he were here, he’d be cracking jokes. I couldn’t handle that.”
“He had a gift for making people forget their problems.”
“A good quality.”
Brady was watching her closely. “Most of the time,” he murmured.
Olivia missed Derek’s larger-than-life presence. He’d been the fun guy, determined to live in the moment. He’d also been the master of distraction. But sometimes life required more than jokes. There had been times when she wondered if their relationship would’ve withstood life’s trials.
