No Options

by Jennifer Haynie

  “Were? Why the past tense?”

  She scowled and raised her goblet to her lips. “He got called away suddenly on business.”

  He drummed his fingers on the metal as lines formed on his brow. “I saw that on the news. Some SecureLink convoy got hit.”

  She nodded and shifted her wineglass around.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Tough break.” He gazed at the game playing on the television above the wineglass racks. “Your man here?”

  Man? What man? Oh. David. Her mood dipped again. She gulped some wine. At least the burning distracted her, if only for a moment. “David and I aren’t together anymore.”

  He cocked his head. “Since when?”

  Couldn’t he leave it alone? She picked up the bottle and grimaced when only a few drops fell into her goblet. “You ever heard of Martin Luther King weekend?”

  “Yeah. I was on call that weekend and investigated a murder in south Raleigh and a convenience store robbery gone bad off Capital Boulevard. Perp wound up shooting the owner. Bad stuff.”

  “That’s when we broke up.” She refused to talk about the fight to end all fights. Or her self-imposed exile from Raleigh after she’d yelled at her brother on the phone from the safety of her retreat to her apartment near Quantico.

  “Sorry to hear that.” He tapped her bowl with his bottle. “You want dessert?”

  “Huh?”

  Nick raised his hand. “Joel, get me a rum and Coke for the lady. Better make it a double. And I’ll have that French dip. Put her meal and drinks on my tab.”

  “Nick, you don’t have to—”

  “You said it yourself.” He pulled out a chair. “Growing boys have to eat. It’s either here or at home by myself. I’d rather eat with you, and honestly, you look like you need the company.”

  Abigail rolled her eyes. “You flatter me.”

  He lifted the bottle to his lips. “How’s work?”

  “Oh, busy. Seems like nonstop, though manageable.”

  “Any tough cases lately?”

  Where should she start? With the biggest one of her career. “I worked the Colonel Boone case.”

  “The serial killer one?”

  Innocent women. Grotesque deaths. A seemingly spotless officer with one too many benefactors at the Pentagon and beyond. She shivered as the memories from those autumn months washed over her. “The one and only.”

  He studied the television for a moment, then focused on her. “That really held my attention. I saw you at those press conferences. You did great. How did it impact you?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  Like a needy boyfriend, he latched onto that remark. “No, tell me.”

  She took a last sip of wine. “I had nightmares for weeks. And he had big shot benefactors who threatened to shut down my career because too many people turned a blind eye.”

  “I hope that’s not going to happen.”

  “Sal and the brigade commander set them straight.”

  “Sal’s your CO?”

  When Joel set her rum and Coke on the bar, she toyed with the straw. “Yeah. Let’s just say Colonel Boone claimed a few unintended victims when several of his pals were asked to retire.”

  “Oh, joy.”

  As she went to work on her cocktail, they discussed the case in as much detail as she could. Nick the professional had come out to play. Heaven forbid if Nick the lover showed up. She didn’t need to entangle herself with her ex-husband.

  Her rum and Coke disappeared faster than the bottle of wine had. Things began blurring. Her husky laugh seemed louder than normal to her ears. She needed to get out of Nick’s presence—fast. Time to cut herself off so she could sober up some before walking home.

  He called for the check. “You didn’t drive here, did you?”

  “No, I walked. It was too pretty to drive.” Yag, she had that sing-song lilt she got when she’d imbibed too much.

  He slid his card into the vinyl book Joel handed him and placed it on the bar. “Then let me take you home.”

  “I can walk.”

  Joel returned his card, and he wasted no time in scribbling a tip and signature. “Yeah, into a light pole. Or worse, a car. C’mon. I’ll drive you. Joel, I’ll see ya later.”

  She slid off her chair. Woo-hoo. Did the concrete just tilt or something?

  Nick wrapped his arm around her shoulders and walked her through the gate. “See what I meant?”

  “Wowz, ya still have this?” Abigail slurred as they arrived at an ancient Mercedes.

  “It may have two hundred-grand-plus on it, but it still runs like a top.” He opened the door. “In you go.”

  She slid inside and fumbled for the seatbelt. The puffball in her stomach spread.

  He started the engine. “Buckle up, buttercup.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him.

  He only rolled his eyes.

  Five minutes later, he parked in Jonathan’s side of the carport. “Let me get you inside.”

  Abigail reached for the latch. “You don’t have to—”

  “Let me be the gentleman for once.” He opened her door and offered his hand. Rather than release her, he held onto it as they climbed the low set of steps to the back door. “You got your keys?”

  She handed them over.

  Once inside, Abigail switched on the LED lights under the upper cabinets. She’d forgotten how much fun he could be, and suddenly, she didn’t want him to leave. “You wanna to stay for a bit?”

  “I could do that. You got glasses?”

  She shoved a lock of hair behind her ear. “In the cabinets above the dishwasher.”

  He opened a door of dark wood. “Got them.”

  Abigail closed her eyes. What a lovely, warm, mellow feeling. Maybe it could last. Ice clinked into some tumblers. Then came the sound of liquid flowing on top of them and the pop and fizz of Coke following. Spoon clicked on glass.

  She started when he shoved her icy drink into her hands. Hmmm. A perfect mix, just like he’d made them when they’d been married. “I’ve talked too much about myself. What’s been going on with you?”

  He leaned against the counter beside her and rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s not a lot to tell. Work’s great. The cases are challenging yet not overwhelming. I’ve got good coworkers. We pal around a lot together. Ball and Dart on Fridays. Trivia on Wednesdays. Three years ago, I bought a townhouse close to the mall. Three bedrooms. Three levels. I use the bottom level as a man cave. I’m still a sports nut, but now I’m a Canes, Panthers, and Yankees fan. Sorry, I’ll never be a Braves fan. All in all, I’ve got a full life.”

  She sipped her drink. “But...”

  A smile flitted across his lips as he faced her. “Huh?”

  “When we were married, you could always tell when there was something else I wanted to say. You called it the ‘almighty but.’ Remember?” She flipped the ends of his tie. “What else?”

  The smile vanished. “I don’t have a woman.”

  “Oh, Nick.”

  He ran some of her hair through his fingers. “I’ve missed you.”

  Something inside of her stilled. “We were all wrong for each other. You said so yourself.”

  “That was in a courtroom after you’d cleaned my clock in the divorce proceedings. This is now. I’ve changed. So have you.” He took her glass and braced his hands on the counter on either side of her. “Seriously, I’ve missed you.”

  Any kind of fiery retort faded. “Nick...”

  He skimmed her cheek with his thumb. “I’d like another chance with you.”

  Her heart pounded. “You don’t—”

  He nuzzled her neck. “That perfume I like so much.” His lips teased the tender skin beneath her ear. “It’s almost like you planned this.” With that, he tipped her chin and kissed her on the lips, then moved down the open collar of her shirt. “And if you did, it’s working.”

  “I don’t...”

  Don’t what? Her excuses faded away from her mind.
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  He closed the gap between them. “You’ve had a rough few months. Let me take care of you tonight.”

  She fell completely under his spell. She took his hand and led him upstairs.

  When they reached the landing, he pushed her against the wall and kissed her long and hard.

  Oh, my. Too late to stop now.

  She wrapped her arms around him, and they stumbled into her bedroom. The room spun as he laid her on the mattress. As his affections intensified, she thought she called out his name. Then she passed out.

  3

  Saturday, April 15, 2017, 0600 hours EDT, Raleigh, NC

  Abigail awakened to a room that spun and tilted like a crazed fun house. She clung to the bed with her fingers, clawing at the mattress until her world righted itself. Blazing light from the hallway seared her vision. With a groan, she snapped her eyes closed. What had happened? A bottle of wine. Cocktails. Her head pounded. Yep, she’d had too much to drink. She moaned. Once more, she propped open an eye.

  A shadow blocked the light.

  She muffled her scream.

  The man standing in the doorway turned on a small lamp sitting on her dresser. “It’s me, Abigail. Nick.”

  The night before returned in bits and pieces. Bellying up to the bar. Nick showing up. Sharing a nightcap with him. Then... It got a bit fuzzy after that. Her heart pounded. She ripped the sheets aside. Thank goodness she still wore all of her clothes. “I was drunk.”

  “Very.” Nick sipped from her favorite mug, one with a cat on it saying, “Coffee is purrfect.” He set it down with a clunk and ran a hand over the dark stubble coating his jaw. “You led me up here, remember?”

  She cringed.

  After easing onto a chair beside the dresser, he rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor. His loosened tie hung between his knees. He met her gaze. “I had every intention of taking you to bed last night. We were hot and heavy. I was starting to undo your shirt when you called his name.”

  “Whose?”

  “David’s.”

  Double the feeling-horrible part now. She’d dropped her guard, then called someone else’s name while in the throes of drunken passion. Lord, I’ve messed up. Big time. Why? Her head really began pounding when she pushed upright. She groaned and held it between her hands. “I’m sorry.”

  The mattress shifted as he sat down beside her. He took her hand. “Don’t be.”

  Manly, olive skin with a light coating of dark hair over it. So familiar to her but distant at the same time.

  He turned hers over and caressed her palm with his thumb. “I know where your heart lies. It’s with David.”

  “I don’t love him.”

  “So says you.” He faced her. “You love him. I respect that, even if you don’t.”

  She winced at the truth in that.

  “That’s why I couldn’t go through with it.” He rose and picked up his mug. “Listen. It’s just past six. I’m going to go get you a cup of coffee and some aspirin. Then I’m going to do my walk of shame before it gets too light out there.”

  Abigail stumbled upright and followed him. Her knees buckled, and she caught herself on the doorframe.

  Nick’s words from the night before sucker-punched her. “It’s almost like you planned this.”

  Had she? The perfume. Going to the Ball and Dart when she knew he’d show up there. Drinking a bit too much. Yeah, she’d wanted to get laid by her ex-husband. Lord, why did I do that?

  Nick returned and placed a mug beside her. “Drink up.”

  She caught his hand as he stepped through the door. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  What could she say? For leading him on? Acting totally out of character? “I don’t know.”

  “Look. You and I have a history together, one that’s not so great. And you love David.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Whether or not you get together again with him is up to you. I’m not going to mess in that. But I hope you and I can be friends. At least at some point.” With that, he curled his hand around her neck.

  Not now, when her defenses against his charms lay in shambles around her.

  He only kissed her on the forehead. “Take care of yourself.”

  With that, he headed toward the stairs.

  Downstairs, the back door shut.

  She hung her head and raked her hands through hair tangled from the night before. Just another sign of the way she’d messed this one up. Nick had scared her with his insight. And what about David and her? Hah. Impossible. Not going to happen. Not with him in Utah and her in Virginia.

  Muttering, she started the shower.

  Its hot stream cleansed her body. The coffee revived her. Thing was, neither did the same to her heart. She really should read Scripture. No. She hadn’t opened her Bible since the Big Breakup. Yet she needed some wisdom, and only one place had it. For this visit, she needed to dress up.

  Abigail slid into the peach sheath she’d planned to wear to church the next day. Time for some jewelry. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she opened a nightstand drawer. Her fingers brushed glass, and she pulled out a silver frame.

  She and David posed together on the beach last year. Her birthday, the sixteenth of June. Thirty-six and with stars in her eyes. The future had opened wide for her during those heady days. In him, she’d found the man she wanted to marry.

  Hah. Wrong, wrong, wrong!

  She tossed the picture face down on the comforter and pulled out a delicate chain with a gold heart. A jagged line halved it and contained a small diamond. David had given it to her on her birthday. Two souls, both brought low by an addiction to painkillers, both overcomers and now together.

  Not anymore.

  She laid it aside and came up with a black box covered in velvet.

  Pearls. A symbol of beauty through adversity, something David said he’d admired in her. She closed her eyes as she remembered Christmas night in Burning Tree a few months ago. For at least a little bit, the tension surrounding their relationship had drained away. They’d curled up together on the couch in his bachelor apartment. He’d presented her with the necklace and earrings, then kissed her slowly and gently. Now, she ached to feel his arms around her, to rest against his firm frame. Absolutely impossible.

  She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “I can’t, Nick.” Her voice broke. “I can’t let myself be hurt like that again. I can’t.”

  For a few seconds, she drew in deep, shuddering breaths.

  With a sigh, she added the pearls and headed downstairs and out the door. She snipped off two rose blooms from a bush under the kitchen window and headed eastward through the chilly morning air. A fog, turned pink in the dawn, surrounded her. Normally, she loved mornings like this. Now, the events of the night before stole her peace.

  She turned right. A low stone wall rose up on her left. She ran her fingers along the rough rock. Soon, the tall arches of Dogwood Cemetery’s main gate greeted her. She passed through them.

  So beautiful here. Peaceful too.

  “Abigail, this is only a resting place for our bodies,” Mama had said one day thirty years during a stroll through the cemetery on a mid-summer’s evening.

  “Where’s the rest of us?” she asked. Six years old and full of curiosity.

  Mama touched her hair. “With Jesus. And when that blessed day comes, we’ll reunite with bodies that will never sicken and die.”

  Did she doubt now? She did. What had happened to her faith? Diminished from the events of the past few months.

  Then came one day when Daddy took her out for coffee her senior year in college. She’d been home on spring break. He spoke with her adult to adult rather than father to child. “Sweetie, everything you identify with may change. You’ll be an Army officer. One day you won’t be. You may be a mother. One day we’ll pass on. You may be a wife. But one part of your identity won’t change. You’re a daughter of the King. Always remember that.”

  �
�Lord, I’ve messed things up with David, with You. When will I learn I need to hang tight with You?” Her words surrounded her like the mist. “Or will I keep on stumbling like this?”

  Finally, she stood at the graves of her parents. They lay side by side as they’d requested in their wills. What would they say to her if they’d lived to see this day? Tightness gripped her chest. She bowed her head. “I miss you two.” A tear escaped and slid down her cheek. “I miss you so much!” A sob ambushed her. “I wish you could be here because I badly need your advice on how to fix things with David. Truly, I don’t know what to do.”

  “I know it is hard.”

  Nabeelah Khan.

  Abigail stilled. “Why are you here?” She’d always recognize that alto voice of the woman who’d nearly drowned her the May before, someone who’d vowed to protect her brother and ex-boyfriend, even by nearly killing her.

  “I know how very hard it is to lose both parents so suddenly.”

  She would. Eight years before on this very day, the Taliban had wiped out her entire village and all of the Mighty Men save for David and Jonathan. Abigail returned her gaze to the tombstones. “I know today is the day of The Incident, as David calls it.”

  Nabeelah came to stand shoulder to shoulder with her. “You and Sergeant Jonathan lost your parents shortly after the first anniversary.”

  Abigail stared at the death dates on Mama’s and Daddy’s tombstones.

  April 17, 2010.

  A new pain seared her heart. Abigail sniffled. “A drunk driver killed them.”

  Nabeelah handed her a tissue.

  Abigail risked a glance at the woman. “How... how did you survive?”

  “I took one day at a time.” Her words came slowly, softly, as if she weighed each one. “Sometimes an hour or a minute at the time. But sometimes, I cannot remember their faces.”

  Abigail and Jonathan had pictures. But Nabeelah? Nothing. “Why did you come here? Surely it wasn’t to comfort me.”

  Nabeelah cast her a sharp look. “I came to warn you.”

  “About what?”

  Nabeelah’s gaze bore into her like a laser. “You may not see it now, but you will. Things are not as they seem, Major Abigail Ward. In your past. In your present. They endanger your future. That of you, your brother, and Sergeant David. Beware.”