Straightening, I hurry to put on my makeup and brush my hair. I glance at the reflection of my digital clock in the bathroom mirror. “Shit.”
I’m due at work in forty-five minutes. No time to sit around and think. I throw my hair into a messy updo and fling off my towel before slipping into my uniform. Taking the time to toss the towel into the laundry, I pause when a familiar fragrance greets me.
Nick’s cologne. I pluck the T-shirt out of the laundry and hold it to my nose, inhaling deeply. God, I miss him. My heart aches again and confirms what I just figured out. I need Nick. I am willing to do anything—absolutely anything—for Nick. Including becoming a military wife again. I know, deep down, it will be different this time. I won’t shut myself away and allow myself to be treated like a trophy wife, only brought out on special occasions.
I also get that Nick would never treat me that way. He wouldn’t choose a night out with the guys over me and he would never, ever hurt me. There will be times when he’s gone or when we might have to move or have our lives dictated to us, but it will all be worth it. Because I love Nick and Nick loves me.
I hope.
Kneeling, I hunt for my work shoes under the bed. As I put them on, I scan the room for my cell. Should I text him? Call him? Shit, I’ve hardly got any time. I’ve got to have breakfast and get to work in thirty minutes. How can I explain everything in a text? I must have hurt him bad with my constant rejections. If he’s even feeling a fifth of what I am, a text won’t cut it. And I don’t have time for a call. If I’m going to convince Nick I’m worth loving, then I need time.
Even though I know nothing’s resolved yet, I can’t help feel like I’ve got a spring in my step as I snatch my keys and handbag. I shove the keys into my bag and go to the door, only to have to dash back to the kitchen when I realize I’ve left my cell in the kitchen and forgotten to grab anything for breakfast. I take an apple from the fruit bowl and bite into it as I scroll through my cell. My gaze lands on the last text I got from Nick when he was still staying here.
Get some wine in. I love you. More than anything.
It’s not poetry but it makes my heart skip. Surely if Nick doesn’t feel as strongly as I do, he wouldn’t have stuck around for so long? I stare at it for another moment and nod to myself. I’ve got to try. After work, I’m going straight over to the base and telling him everything. I’ll beg if I have to. Though I’d rather not. Hopefully it won’t come to that.
Hopefully.
My stomach churns with excitement and trepidation. Today I am going to win Nick back. I’m going to tell him exactly how much I love him.
I yank open the door and someone’s standing there, ready to knock. I frown as we both stare at each other. The red-haired man looks as surprised as I do.
“Can I—”
The raised hand shoots for my face and suddenly I’m staring at my beige carpet, stars exploding in my visions, pain radiating through my nose. “What the fuck?” I manage to mutter before a hand clamps over my mouth.
Chapter Ten
Nick
I skim my gaze over the soldier on the treadmill next to me and sigh. I feel ancient compared to him. Past my prime. I push harder and kick up the speed. He’s barely breaking a sweat but I can tell he’s getting a buzz from kicking my ass.
They all look the same, these kids. That cocky gleam in their eye like they can take on the world. I relish it normally. Looking after them, playing some role in molding them. Even though I’m stuck behind a damned desk, I’m not stupid. Being on the front line isn’t the only thing keeping the corps running. But on days like today…
On days like today, I’d rather be rolling around in the sand than competing with boys who are only behaving exactly how we’ve taught them to behave. We’ve removed all their fear, spat them out and then the politicians scratch their heads and wonder why we’ve got all these guys who can’t adjust to civilian life. We fill them full of attitude and aggression. Something I could do without right now. All this frustration burning inside me is going to send me over the edge.
He flashes me a grin. “Maybe you should slow it down, Sergeant?”
I bite back a growl and am about to respond when my ringtone sounds from my gym bag. I glare, jab at the treadmill, climb off and snatch my phone out. My heart ricochets in my chest when I pull it out and see the number. Sienna.
I debate my cell for a minute, then slide to answer. “Sienna?”
Nothing. I strain to listen. Has she called me and lost her nerve? God knows, I’ve nearly called her several times this week. I cover the phone and glance at the private. I’m not having some kid listening to me grovel to Sienna so I snatch my bag and head outside. I try again. “Sienna, sweetheart, are you there?”
I pray for her to answer but there’s nothing, just a scratching sound. Maybe she rung by accident. Fuck, I really thought she would have phoned by now. One week without her has been a nightmare. Hell, I normally enjoy dealing with all the issues that arise at work. I relish taking these guys under my wing and trying to remind them they’re not all Superman and it’s damned easy to get killed by being cocky.
But not having Sienna in my life has taken away all my enjoyment. At least when she was married to Rob I still got to see her occasionally, even if it shattered me at times. Not seeing her at all… well, I may as well cut out my own heart. It fucking kills.
In spite of myself, I listen, hoping to hear something. I promised to give her space. That’s the only reason I haven’t contacted her. Because of my stupid promise. But I’ve pushed and pushed and I can’t keep on pushing. What if I’d pushed her into ‘us’? How would I know it was what she really wanted? So I’m going to stick it out and wait. Because, hell, that’s one thing I’m good at, right?
As I listen, I become aware of a scuffling sound. I stand a little straighter. Has she just pocket dialed me? I can hear a voice—a man’s voice. Jealousy makes my gut curl tight and I squeeze the phone hard. But what does it matter? It could be anyone.
I hear a squeal and more scuffling. My pulse bounds a little. This doesn’t sound like a normal conversation. I can’t catch what the guy is saying but it sounds low and threatening. Then Sienna whimpers and I know this is not good. Has she rung me for help?
I’m torn between going to her, and waiting to find out what’s going on. Shit, I never should have left her. I knew something bad was going to happen. My instincts had been warning me since we found the drugs and I ignored them.
I drop my bag, cell still clamped to my ear and fish my keys out. Sprinting to the office buildings, I fumble to open the door and unlock my office. Hurrying around my desk, I yank open the top drawer. My hand hovers over the lockbox. I open it, snatch my pistol and tuck it into the back of my pants. Without even responding to any of the salutes as I storm past, I dive out the building for my car. Sienna questions the man. “What do you want with me? Where are you taking me?”
Mentally I beg her to tell me more. Just a hint. If they’re taking her somewhere, she’ll be long gone by the time I reach her apartment. If she’s even there. I’m not sure what shifts she’s working so she could be at the hospital. I fumble to open my car and dive in. Even when I start the engine, I’m still not sure what I’m doing. I can barely make out anything now, just lots of muffled sounds. Anger, fear, regret all pile up inside me, making bile rise in my throat.
My mind keeps running over the what ifs. What if I’d been there with her? What if I never see her again? What if they’re intending to kill her? Then the whys spring up. Why do they even want her? She hasn’t got the damned drugs. And why the fuck did I let my pride get in the way? I should have stuck with her, shown her I’ll always be there no matter what.
Dammit.
I slam my palm down on the steering wheel, put the cell on speakerphone and gun the engine. As I grind out of the parking lot, the line goes dead and I’m fairly certain my heart gives out for a moment too. At that point I decide to head for her apartment. Grabbing her at the h
ospital would be too difficult. She promised she’d be extra careful there and the security guys were aware of everything that had happened. But at home, I’m willing to bet she let her guard down. If I was a bad guy, it’s where I’d grab her.
What I’m going to do when I get there though, I don’t know. Turn the place upside down until I find her perhaps? Call the cops? I can’t really think straight right now. I’ve no idea what’s going on around me. In fact, I probably shouldn’t be driving. All I can think of is getting to Sienna and pounding my fist into whoever has her. Breaking a few bones would feel great. I promise myself they will pay for hurting her and for the times they scared her and tried to harm her. I will make them pay. My fingers twitch on the wheel as I imagine wrapping my hands around the neck of the guy Sienna kept calling Skinhead. A bitter taste hits my mouth. I’m normally pretty in control of my temper but at the moment my blood is rushing under my skin, pounding in my skull. The need to protect what is mine is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced on the battlefield. I’m not sure I even remember being so angry and scared when we were pinned down and fighting for our lives.
But then we were soldiers, doing what we were trained to do. Sienna never asked for any of this. She doesn’t deserve any of it. Sweet, funny, kind-hearted Sienna only deserves the nicest fucking things to happen to her. If—when—I get her back, I’m going to make damned sure her life is the best it can be.
I pull up outside her apartment, barely aware of how I got here. My parking is crap but I don’t care. Her car’s still here, but that doesn’t mean much. Thankfully I still remember the door code so I climb out the car, slam the door shut and am in the building within seconds. I slow my pace as I ascend the stairs, aware her attacker could still be around.
Drawing out my pistol, I flick off the safety and creep up the stairs. It’s quiet. Her neighbors are probably at work. Even from the bottom of the stairs, I can see her door is ajar. I’m tense. What is it they say? Like a coiled spring? That’s how I feel. Except I have a lot more at stake than a damned spring.
I pause outside the door but everything’s silent. The empty sensation in my gut tells me she’s gone but I can’t take the risk. I carefully and methodically search her apartment, as if I’m clearing a building.
There’s not even any sign of a struggle. No hint as to where she’s been taken aside from an apple discarded on the floor, a bit taken out of it. I scoop up the apple and study it. I’m all ready to leap into action and have nowhere to go. The sharp drop in adrenaline makes my legs shake and I slump onto the couch, put my head in my hands and honestly… I consider crying. My pistol is in the hand near my forehead, so I flick the safety back on.
I draw myself up and skim my gaze about the room. What the hell do I do now? I swear I’ve never felt so powerless in my life. Even when the shrapnel tore through my calf, at least I still managed to keep shooting.
Okay, so I have to do something. I swipe the screen of my cell and go into the kitchen to grab the house phone, knowing I programmed Detective Matthews’s number into it. The door to her bedroom is open and just looking at her bed, still all messy, makes my chest ache. I should have been here. We should have woken up together. It’s an old fashioned belief, but as a man, you feel like you need to protect the women in your life. I should have been here to protect her.
Before the tightness in my throat closes over, I jab in the number. I hate to admit it but I am in way over my head here. I just hope they can do what I can’t and bring her back to me in one piece.
***
Sienna
The journey in the car makes me sick. I’m on the back seat, lying across it. Each turn makes my stomach roll. I don’t know if it’s from fear but I’ve got to say being laid down in a car, not being able to see anything, is not a fun experience. My hands are tied and the guy isn’t driving particularly fast but I can’t brace myself properly when the car corners.
In the passenger seat I can just see Skinhead. He turned around briefly to leer at me and he’s ignored me the rest of the time. The guy who punched me, I don’t recognize. Maybe Skinhead had messed up too many times to be allowed the privilege of grabbing me. Perhaps he was worried he’d get another wine bottle to the head.
I try to focus on that memory. Of a time when I was terrified but I fought back. I’m secretly hopeful something miraculous will happen and I’ll be able to fight back again, but the pounding of my heart and the tremors that keep attacking me are making me forget that I escaped Skinhead twice now. I have a sneaking suspicion it won’t be so easy this time.
I just wish I knew what they wanted. I don’t have the drugs. I don’t get why they want me. Surely I’m not that important? I’m a nurse for Godsakes. A nobody. Someone with a pretty dull life until recently. I never, in my entire life, expected to be attacked and kidnapped.
The car takes a corner and I press my feet into the car door to try to brace myself and stop me from rolling off the back seat. I keep thinking of all the films I’ve seen about kidnapping, like that one with Liam Neeson, and wonder if I should be counting stuff or listening carefully. But counting what? I guess if you’re going in a straight line, maybe you can figure out the distance you’ve traveled? I really don’t know. And all I can hear is traffic and the car engine. My ear is pressed into the leather seat so the noise of the car is pretty loud. Skinhead and the red-haired guy—I think of him as ‘Meathead’ due to his thick shoulders and large head—don’t have much to say to each other. They clearly know what is going on.
My head pounds like I’ve got the hangover from hell. I doubt my nose is broken but I’m willing to bet I’ve some nice bruises coming up. I’m a little numb to the pain in my face—just suffering with a headache—but that might be because of the fear. I’m scared for myself—I mean how else is this going to end up? While I can’t figure out what they want from me, it can’t be anything good. But actually my biggest regret is not seeing Nick again. Things ended so badly. My throat clogs. I wonder if they’ll let me call him one last time and tell him how much I love him.
It’s kind of funny because being tied up in the back of a car does put your life in perspective. I hate that I wasted so much time on Rob yet I wasn’t willing to put the time in with Nick. I worked so hard at a marriage that didn’t work and then gave up on something that could have been amazing. Was amazing.
Yep, I’m an idiot. This has only confirmed what I’ve begun to realize. I will do anything, go anywhere to be with Nick. If there was even the slightest doubt in me before, it’s gone now. If only I’d gotten the opportunity to tell him. Why hadn’t I called him when I had the chance? If I’d taken just two minutes to speak to him, I might not be in the back of this damned car going God knows where.
Because you were still scared, a voice whispers.
But I’m not scared now. Not of being with Nick. The idea sends the slightest trickle of courage through me. I have to survive this. Whatever happens, I need to tell Nick that he’s worth it. Need to tell him I want to fight for us and that I’ll put in all hours for him.
Just like he did with me.
Even if he rejects me, it won’t matter, because at least he’ll know.
The car slows to take another corner and it gives me the chance to twist my neck and see where we are. There are cranes around us but I can’t make out much more—only sky. We roll to a stop and I have to cling real hard to my courage to stop from hyperventilating.
I’m really not ready to die. I’m not sure if I’m being melodramatic but that’s the only outcome I can think of. They’re hardly going to snatch me and then let me go on my way when I tell them there’s no drugs left. Because that’s got to be the only reason they want me. Maybe the newspaper article didn’t work after all. Guess Nick was right about that too.
The door swings open and Meathead grabs my legs and slides me out. I try to fight but don’t have much luck. He’s practically as thick as he is tall and his arms are probably wider than my waist, covered in matted ginger h
air. He snatches my arms and rights me. My feet are bare, having lost my shoes in the fight, and the ground is still cold as the sun hasn’t warmed it yet. I shudder.
I get a good look at Meathead now. He’s probably not much taller than I am, with a podgy nose and thick lips. Nothing about this man is small apart from his dark eyes. They’re sunken and kind of piggy. I’d love to tell him that but at the moment my tongue won’t work.
I peer around him and realize we’re at the docks. The noise of machinery and vehicles surrounds us. One large tanker, loaded with crates waits at the dockside and a drab grey warehouse looms to one side. With his hands clamped firmly around my arms, Meathead leads me to the warehouse. I struggle briefly and his only response is to pull harder so my toes scrape on the ground and I’m forced to jog to keep up.
Not far from us, behind more crates, I see workers and further along, I spy the cranes working. The metal boxes pretty much block us from the busy men but I hope the guys in the cranes might spot me and call for help. Though I’d bet to them we look so small, they can’t tell what’s going on.
“Come on,” Meathead insists with another sharp tug on my arm.
“I’m not going anywhere!” I finally find my voice and it’s high-pitched and squeaky. “Help!” I scream, fighting his hold once more. It comes out quiet against the background noise of the docks but I try again. “Help!”
I don’t even see it coming. The back of Skinhead’s hand comes across my face, dazzling me. Everything goes white for a minute and I sag, only supported by Meathead’s grip on me. Skinhead takes my other arm and they haul me to the warehouse. I’m vaguely aware of the painful chafe of concrete on the tops of my toes and going into a wide, dark entrance. Then one of them throws me over his shoulder and steps are whizzing past my face. My already queasy stomach lurches.
My journey ends in a plain office. I’m dumped on a chair, my hands still bound behind my back. They make no attempt to secure me but Meathead is standing in front of the door and there’s no other exit. A single paned window looks out over the tanker and a cheap wooden desk sits in front of it. One of those swivel chairs is behind it, like the one I’m on, its stuffing practically spilling out of the worn fabric. There’s no paintings or photos. No sign of this being used as an actual workplace. There’s a filing cabinet to one side of the window but no paperwork on the desk. For some reason, the grey carpet, bare desk and dingy yellow walls makes me more nervous.
Not Another Soldier Page 19
