by Kaylea Cross
The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed midnight, officially making it Boxing Day. Luke glanced around his spartan living room with a sigh. Not that yesterday had resembled anything close to Christmas. On the few occasions he came home during the holidays, he never bothered with a tree or lights. What was the point? It only reminded him he was alone, and by choice.
This year, he didn’t even have a Christmas card sitting on his mantel. For the first time in over two decades, his ex-wife hadn’t sent him one. And she hadn’t returned his calls, either. He’d phoned her twice to find out if she was okay after her sudden departure from Vancouver when he’d come out of recovery, and left a message the last time. Nada. It bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
Luke set the pistol on the coffee table and sank onto the couch to open the laptop screen. Yep, quite a life he’d carved out for himself. He’d spent most of his days tracking down terrorists in every war-torn and backward country on the planet, first as a SEAL officer, later in CIA paramilitary ops and contract work. He’d faced death more times than he could count, and taken more lives than he cared to remember. At this point, he didn’t care if he bought it on the next mission so long as he got Tehrazzi in the process. With everything he’d gone through in his life, it would be a relief for the pain to stop.
If hell existed, he’d more than earned an eternity of torture and misery there. Though he doubted the devil could do much worse to him than he’d inflicted upon himself over his lifetime. If what he’d done in the name of duty didn’t earn him a place in the underworld once he croaked, he always had the trump card of abandoning his wife and young son all those years ago. That knowledge never went away, no matter what he did. It stayed buried in his heart like a razor blade.
In fact, it was a miracle he’d been invited to his son’s wedding a month ago, and wouldn’t have been if he and Rayne hadn’t tried patching the cracks and fissures in their relationship—if someone could call it that—six months ago. On his way to the airport Luke had almost turned around on the freeway and gone home. Would have been safer for everyone if he had. In the middle of a dance with Emily, the first time he’d touched her in over a decade, his head injury had finally taken its toll and landed him flat on his back in the middle of the dance floor. Out cold, and they’d dragged him off to the hospital. One brain surgery later, and voila, he was good as new.
Absently he toyed with the St. Christopher medallion hanging from a gold chain around his neck. Em had given it to him when he’d first made the SEAL Teams, and he’d never taken it off. Not once in over twenty years, until that surgery when one of the nurses had given it to Emily to hold. Maybe that’s why she’d taken off so suddenly with the cryptic message of “having her own demons to face” and flown back to Charleston. Finding out he still wore the thing must have been a shock for her.
The laptop suddenly beeped with an incoming e-mail. When he opened the file from Bryn, he frowned. She was the cog in the wheel that joined him, his family, and most of his hand-picked team together. She’d just married a SEAL named Dec McCabe. Luke had enlisted him to track down Tehrazzi back in September when she’d been kidnapped.
Luke braced for bad news. If Bryn was back from the honeymoon already and e-mailing him at this hour on Christmas night her time, it had to mean Dec had been called out to join Dev Group. Which meant either something big was brewing in the Middle East that he didn’t know about, or the top brass expected trouble in the immediate future.
Hey, Luke. Just got off the phone with Rayne. Emily’s not doing very well...
His stomach dropped. Damn it, he’d known something wasn’t right with her.
Christa and Rayne are with her, but I’m heading to Charleston tomorrow, and thought maybe you should give her a call. Will keep you posted.
Bryn
Staring at the screen, an awful hollow feeling settled in his gut. He’d known it had to be bad for Em to leave the hospital in Vancouver before he’d come out of recovery, but if it was bad enough for Bryn to fly down there...
He remembered the e-mail from his son on the last mission in Afghanistan in late September. P.S. You might want to talk to mom ASAP.
Jesus, he’d been too chicken shit to phone her after their last conversation had ended so disastrously, so he’d let it slide. Seeing her at Rayne’s wedding was the first time he’d made contact since. She’d been pale, but he’d assumed it had to do with seeing him face-to-face and the fact their only child was getting married. But Christ, what if it was something way more serious?
Shit. Why the hell hadn’t Rayne called him to tell him? Luke snatched up his cell phone and dialed his son, but it went through to voicemail. He tried Bryn, but the same thing happened. He jumped up from the couch and went to the kitchen. It took some digging, but he eventually found his daughter-in-law’s cell number. He paced as he waited for the call to connect, then it rang once, twice, three times—
“Hello?”
“Christa, it’s Luke.” He didn’t bother apologizing for the late hour, but she didn’t seem groggy so maybe he hadn’t woken her.
“Hey, Merry Christmas! How are you?”
He was too worried to make small talk. “I just got an e-mail from Bryn about Emily.”
“Oh...”
When she didn’t offer anything further, Luke suppressed an irritated growl. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Just a second.” He made out the sound of a door closing and then treads down wooden steps. She must be headed down the rear steps of Emily’s house, toward the garden. Luke knew every square inch of that property, so he had a good mental image of where she was as he counted the seconds. After another few moments she came back on the line. “Sorry, just wanted a little privacy.”
So Rayne and Emily wouldn’t know who she was talking to. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s...sick.”
Yeah, no shit.
“We only found out yesterday when we came in to visit for a few days.”
Luke pictured Christa peering cautiously over the shrubbery to make sure no one in the house could see her. “Sick with what?”
“We’re still prying details out of her, and she doesn’t want anyone to know.”
Luke clenched his jaw. If Christa’s career as a national-level softball catcher didn’t pan out, she could make a living working for the Agency with non-answers like that. “How bad is it?” Although he already knew it was pretty damn serious. It scared him to know Emily hadn’t even told Rayne or Bryn about it.
“Uh...she’s putting on a brave face, but— Hold on.” A moment’s pause. “Be right up,” she called, her voice muffled as though she’d put a hand over the phone. So much for the covert op. “Sorry,” she said to him, her voice a near whisper, “but I gotta go back in or she’ll be suspicious.”
“Is Rayne there?”
“He’s uh...busy cleaning up the kitchen with her. Can I have him call you back in the morning?”
It is morning, he wanted to say, but held back the words. Luke was acutely conscious that his son had contacted Bryn instead of him, and that Christa hadn’t offered to put Emily on the phone. Since Christa was the soul of politeness, he had to assume it was because she thought it would upset Emily to speak with him. Or that it might piss Rayne off. “They tell you not to talk to me?”
“What? No, it’s just...I’m not sure if she...” Christa took a deep breath. “I’m not sure what to do,” she admitted. “That’s why I asked Bryn to contact you.”
So Christa wouldn’t be incriminated on her own. “Fine. Have Rayne call me when he gets a chance.”
“Okay. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, Luke. I want to, but—”
“It’s all right. I understand.” He understood all too well.
“I don't want to interfere with your...relationship with her—”
Relationship? He almost laughed. What he and Emily had wasn’t anything close to a relationship. He didn’t even rank a spot on her Christmas card list anym
ore.
“—but Bryn and I talked about it and we both think she needs... I’m not sure if you’re comfortable with it, but—”
Jesus Christ, he wanted to snap, just say it already.
“We think she might...need you.”
Ah, hell. Luke closed his eyes as a wave of pain washed over him. Whatever was going on, Emily had faced it alone until today, and he was likely the last person she wanted to find out about it. He hated knowing that because it emphasized what a shitty husband he’d been and how badly he’d hurt her when he’d left all those years ago. “I hear you.” But what could he do for her? They were barely on speaking terms.
Once he got off the phone, Luke debated the situation for all of three seconds, then went to his bedroom and took a duffel from his closet. Sitting around waiting got him nowhere, and he knew Tehrazzi was up to something. On the off chance Emily might be in danger, he would put an undercover security detail on her.
He packed enough clothes to last him a week, then got his gear together. Improvising was second nature to him, so he’d handle this situation the same way he would a military operation: his way.
To hell with waiting for his son to call him back. He was putting his ass on a plane ASAP and getting some answers from Emily face to face.
****
Charleston, SC
Boxing Day
Emily sat curled up on the porch swing overlooking her back garden, while her new daughter-in-law puttered around the yard pruning and cleaning up the beds for the winter. She loved Christa to pieces, and would be eternally grateful her son had married such a sweetheart, but if they didn’t let her get up and help with something soon, she’d go nuts.
They’d made her lie on the couch all morning while they’d taken down the few Christmas ornaments she’d put up, along with the fresh cut Blue Spruce tree she bought each year. Tradition was important to her. The owner of the tree lot always put one aside for her and called her when it came in, but this year she almost hadn’t bothered decorating at all. She wasn’t exactly in a festive mood these days.
When Rayne and Christa had surprised her on Christmas Eve by showing up on her doorstep, they’d given her the best present in the world. Bryn’s arrival this morning made it all the more special. Holidays were hard enough for Emily without spending them alone. She hadn’t wanted them to find out what was happening and they’d been mad as hell she hadn’t told them before, but now the secret was out and she was relieved.
“Aren’t you getting cold?” she called out, glancing at her watch. Christa’d been at it for over an hour, and Charleston was chilly in late December.
“No, I’m good. Almost done here anyhow,” Christa replied, kneeling as she deadheaded some of last year’s perennials. Her face was hidden by her Team Canada ball cap that proudly proclaimed You Only Wish You Could Play Like A Girl.
Since she’d gotten ill, Emily had let the garden slide. It made her happy Christa was here to lend a hand because it was too beautiful to let it go by the wayside. Full of memories, too. Like the ones from her wedding reception.
Quit thinking about him. “How about some tea, then?”
Christa stopped what she was doing and looked up at her with narrowed eyes. “You move one toe off that swing and I’ll come up there and duct tape you to it.”
Emily laughed. “I might be more scared if I thought you really meant that.”
Christa set down her spade and put her hands on her hips. “Don’t try me, and if we want tea, I’m sure Rayne will make it.”
Emily sighed. “I’m not an invalid, contrary to everyone’s opinion.”
“You’re supposed to be resting, and you should take advantage of that. Just for once let someone else do the work around here. We’ll be gone soon enough as it is.”
She wasn’t going to win this argument, so she might as well enjoy the break. “Have I told you you’re an angel?”
“About a hundred times.”
Smiling, Emily leaned back against the pillows and pulled the thick quilt around her more snugly. The air was cold, but not frigid. The tall palmetto that graced the center of the back garden waved its fronds gently with a soft rustling sound. Moving in swirling gusts, the slight wind coming off the harbor brought the briny tang of the water with it. The cool temperatures seemed to help the nausea that plagued her, and refreshed her sluggish brain. Both miraculous things, given how awful she’d felt lately, but she was much better today. The imposed rest was definitely helping. Good days were so rare for her now that she’d learned to cherish them.
The black, wrought iron side gate swung open and Bryn came through it, just returned from her jog. She pulled off her knit cap and grinned, long dark hair flowing down her back. “Hey, how are you guys doing?”
“Great,” she and Christa replied in unison.
Bryn rolled her eyes. “You two are like twins, I swear. It’s scary.” With her long legs encased in her tight yoga pants, she loped up the back steps and took a seat next to Emily. She ran a critical eye over her face. “You look better.”
“Feeling better, too. The air helps, along with the peppermint tea y’all keep shoving at me.”
“We do what we can.” Bryn studied Christa’s work for a moment with a shake of her head, her hair brushing across the middle of her black Nike jacket. “Did you guys inherit some kind of mutant female gene that I didn’t? Is that why you can cook gourmet food, keep a spotless home, garden and do everything else in regards to running a show home and I can’t?”
“You just need more practice,” Christa told her without looking up. “As for me, I’d much rather be able to kick a terrorist’s ass and walk away dusting my hands.”
Bryn made a sour face. “It didn’t happen quite like that.” She tilted her head at Christa. “Where’s your hubby?”
“Doing laundry.” Her aquamarine eyes sparkled with humor. “Phase one of his domestic training is nearly complete.”
Bryn shared a conspiratorial grin with her. “I like the way you think. I only had limited time to get Dec trained the way I want him before he got called out, so I’ll live vicariously through you. You’ve got a better shot with perfecting Rayne anyhow. Mine won’t be home enough to make the effort worthwhile.”
Yeah, Emily knew how that went. As the wife of an active-duty SEAL, Bryn faced a tough transition, and while Emily didn’t envy her, she was going to make sure she helped her friend through it. The same as Bryn and Christa were helping her now with their unexpected visit.
As much as she’d intended to fight this battle alone and not worry any of her loved ones, it was such a blessing to have them gathered around her, and more so to know they’d done it because they loved her so much. That in itself was better than any medicine a doctor could prescribe.
Beneath Bryn’s nonchalance about her husband getting called out to duty, however, Emily heard the terrible uncertainty she herself had once been forced to live with. She nudged Bryn’s knee. “Heard from Dec?”
“Not since yesterday when he responded to my e-mail. He told me he’s fine, and not to worry.”
Their first Christmas together, and he was overseas someplace. Emily rolled her eyes. “Why do they say such ridiculous things to us? Do they think we’re stupid?”
Bryn chuckled. “I guess it’s all they can think of to put us at ease.”
“Oh, please.” As if anything could do that. She’d spent many a sleepless night glued to the TV watching cable news reports about developing situations and conflicts overseas. That’s the only way she’d ever been able to guess where Luke was when he deployed during the years they’d been married. It had taken its toll over the course of their marriage, but she’d still been willing to stick it out until they were old and decrepit, sitting on this same porch swing together. Little good it had done her.
Pushing the thought away, Emily laid a hand over Bryn’s and met her friend’s dark eyes. “I know it’s not much, but I understand what you’re going through.”
Bryn offe
red a smile. “I know, and I’m glad I’ve got you to talk with.” She got up and stretched, reaching her arms over her head, five-feet-nine-inches of toned muscle. “How about something to snack on? It won’t be homemade petit fours or anything, so I don’t want you to be disappointed,” she warned with a wry edge. “But I think I can handle some yogurt and granola parfaits with strawberries. Sound okay?”
Emily double checked with her stomach, imagining the flavors in her mouth. Luckily, her body didn’t protest with all the signs that heralded a bout of vomiting. Things were looking up. “I think I will have some, thanks.”
“Back in a flash.” She passed Rayne as he stepped out onto the back porch from the kitchen. “Tell your wife to get off her damn knees and relax.”
“Oh, but I love the things she does when she’s on her knees,” he replied, laughing as he caught the gardening glove Christa chucked at him.
Emily shook her head at her son, tall and strong and way too handsome for his own good. “I’d watch what you say about your wife,” she advised. “That girl’s got a wicked arm on her.”
His hazel-green eyes, the only part of him that wasn’t a carbon copy of Luke, were full of mischief when he looked at her. “That she does,” he murmured, the Low Country drawl still evident in his voice. He held out a hand to her. “Come on. Time for your appointment.”
She groaned. “Already?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He tugged on her wrist, his hand so broad and strong compared to hers, but still so gentle. “Come on, don’t make me carry you.”
