by Sex, Nikki
Bad boys may be fun for a while, but it always went the same way. They stopped coming home; they burned through your hard-earned cash, or wrecked your car while DUI.
Then they go mad and become violent.
Fuck them.
Jack wasn’t a bad boy. He was kind and sweet and earnest.
In that way he was similar to Bob, yet he was different from anyone she'd ever known. Jack oozed goodness and respect, but he was tough; he had to be.
You don't survive a war without being a little tough, right?
Like her, Jack wasn’t cynical and pessimistic. He read and was interested in the world. He was a doctor, earned his own damned money and he seems to really care about people—not in a pushover, pansy-ass way. More like in a John Wayne cowboy way.
Jack seemed the right mix of good and bad, soft and hard, mean and kind. That's what she needed in her life, some sort of balance.
If that was true, maybe she was actually running towards something for once. At least she could be running with him, rather than facing life alone.
If. If she told Jack everything. If he still wanted her.
That was a big If.
Laura pulled the pistol out from the bottom of her panty drawer. She felt its weight in her hand and looked at the polished steel sparkle in the light. With a snap of her wrist—she'd been practicing—she flipped open the cylinder and counted the six copper circles that indicated six loaded chambers.
Her jaw clenched with sudden determination. With another snap, she closed it tight. The shit stops here, she decided. Ron was dead and this time life had pushed her too damn far.
It didn't matter if at heart, Jack was a cowboy or a pansy.
I can take care of myself. If that means I have to shoot the crap out of anybody that tries to hurt me, or Jack, then so be it.
She stuffed the revolver in the bottom of her bag, right below her neatly folded, pretty pink panties.
Chapter 39.
Jack paced the room with violent energy. Fists balled, he waited for Laura to return. Some psycho—apparently an ex-lover of Laura’s—had killed a good man. Ron had been her neighbor and a friend, who'd been looking out for her.
Fierce burning anger was building inside of him.
He hated seeing Laura so upset. She was strong and tenacious but this newest piece of shit was going knock her around for days, maybe weeks… or longer.
Would she wake in terror in the middle of the night like he did? Covered in a cold sweat?
I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
He had to tamp down his temper. Jack didn't want Laura subjected to that part of him. She needed his support. Jack wanted to beat the ever-loving crap out of the dog-shit piece of scum that had killed Ron and upset the woman he’d grown to love.
Shit.
Apparently, the murderous asshole turned up a short while ago demanding money and sex. If her neighbor hadn’t been there, he may have gotten what he’d come for. Now Ron was dead.
Forget beating him up. Jack wanted to kill the bastard.
When Laura came out of her room, red-eyed with her bag slung over her shoulder, Jack focused on presenting a calm appearance.
He was relieved to see that she looked different… almost determined. He thought this might be a good sign. She no longer seemed all weepy and afraid.
In Iraq, he didn’t only treat physical illness and injury—there were a truckload of mental and emotional issues to deal with as well. Sometimes, in his experience, a Marine who suddenly went from sad and afraid to doggedly set on something, was a ticking time bomb, minutes away from exploding.
Not always, of course.
Often, sudden determination came with the recognition that there was a job to be done, come Hell or high water. It could simply mean that the Marine wouldn't let anyone or anything get in their way.
Every once in a while though, it was the look of a Marine who was steps away from hurting himself or his friends.
Time would tell, but the physician in Jack insisted he watch her very closely.
Laura sighed. "I’m ready to go."
Jack took her bag from her hand. "Good. Let’s get out of here."
They walked out of her apartment and down the hall through virtual cobwebs of police tape, as well as a miniature forest of numbered crime scene markers.
The paramedics and the coroner had come and gone, leaving little drifts of medical debris—wrappers from sterile packaging, bits of gauze, gloves—that littered the hall. Ron's door was closed and the doorway was covered with even more police tape in a complex day-glow yellow cat's cradle.
Outside, only one cop car remained at the curb.
A single bored-looking policeman, a young rookie by the look of him, leaned against the hood of his car, smoking cheap cigarettes. By the pile of butts at his feet, he'd been there a while.
"Those things will kill you," Jack called, as they hustled to his Jeep. The cop shrugged and lit a new smoke off the burning end of the old one.
"Chief said to stay until you two left, and to tell you not to come back here until he says it's OK."
"Sure thing," Jack answered. "Don't worry about us, we're out of here."
"Not too far, I hope."
Jack gave him a half smile and tossed Laura's bag into the back of his Jeep. "Just down the street."
"Whatever."
The cop went back to looking bored, as Jack fired up his car.
Jack’s hotel was just a few blocks away, in town. First right where the drawbridge arched over the Trent River and there it was, on the left. A marina was on the water, behind the hotel.
When he’d first arrived, Jack considered renting one of the trim cruisers that were moored there. First he had to get a boating license, he supposed.
They parked and walked into the large building that dominated the waterfront. Jack had heard it had quite a bit of its history. First built as a part of a rush to develop the sleepy little town, it included a convention center and a marina.
An outside bar circled the pool that overlooked the water. A brightly colored sign advertised "Jazz Night Under The Stars" every Friday. Was it Friday? Jack wasn't sure, that’s how out of touch he was.
The last few days had been more than a little chaotic. It didn't matter, anyway.
They silently walked to his room, after riding the elevator to the top floor. Jack didn't know what to say, and Laura didn't seem to want to talk either. He decided to let her be for the moment.
Feeling paranoid, Jack opened the door and had her wait while for a moment, while he checked the apartment for unwanted visitors.
Jack's room—rooms actually—were nice. The lounge area was laid out with two long couches, a wide screen TV and a small kitchenette. Sliding glass doors opened to a balcony with a view that commanded the marina and the river beyond.
The lights along the arc of the Neuse River Bridge twinkled cheerfully in the distance.
Jack opened a closet and pulled out a spare pillow and blanket. He tossed them on the couch and turned to Laura.
"I'll take the couch in here; the bedroom is down the hall. The door has a deadbolt and I'll be between you and the outside world anyway.” He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Listen, do you want to talk about it?”
Green eyes appearing somewhat dazed and vacant, she shook her head.
“That’s fine. It's up to you. I'm here for you. You deserve some TLC time. Sleep, take a bath—whatever. Do whatever you feel like doing. I’m going to order room service. If you can, you’ll feel better if you have something in your stomach. Is there anything you’d like to eat?”
She shrugged.
He squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll surprise you with something.”
Laura said nothing.
“You’re safe here, OK?"
Laura nodded.
“Come here,” he said and pulled her into his arms. He hugged her and patted her back, making soothing sounds and murmurs. Laura didn’t respond. He held her for a few minutes, fee
ling helpless and impotent. Then he pulled away, quietly letting her go.
"I’ll take your gear in the other room and help you settle in,” he said, picking up her bag. “We’ll get through this, Laura. Sleep won't be easy, but you need to rest. There's some booze in the mini-bar, if you think that'll help."
Laura shook her head again, but a flash of humor and resolve came into her eyes. "No, thanks,” she said with a sudden burst of somewhat hysterical laughter. It sounded anything but funny. “Since my mom’s an addict, I have a strict personal rule I follow. I only drink when I’m happy.”
“Oh?” Jack said calmly. He didn’t like the sound of that laugh. Laura had been through a load of shit and was clearly on edge.
“Yeah,” she added. “Otherwise, I’m pretty sure I’d be an alcoholic by now.”
“That’s smart,” Jack said, allowing his genuine admiration to show. “Really smart. What a clever idea, to only drink only when you’re happy. You’re not stupid, are you?”
“Yes I am,” Laura said with a deep, despondent sigh. Before he could disagree, she added, “I just need a little quiet time to myself, Jack."
"Sure thing. I can't blame you. Whatever makes you feel better."
Walking toward her room, Jack stopped her again, once more with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "It's perfectly normal, you know… to be upset. It's normal and sane and right to feel angry and frightened and worried about all this. You’re normal."
"Thanks." A faint, tentative smile tugged at her lips. "I don't doubt that at all—but I..." Her voice broke and she shut her eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath. “Never mind. I… think I have a bit more crying to do.”
“Laura—”
Shaking her head, she said, “It’s OK—I’m OK. I’m kinda like an old hound dog, y’know? When I get hurt, I just want to hole up somewhere by myself and lick my wounds until I’m feeling better.”
She took his warm hand in her cold one and kissed it affectionately. “Thanks, Jack.” With a sad smile she went into the bedroom.
The door closed behind her with a click of the lock.
Jack ordered three different types of pizza. Food was best in this kind of situation. They both needed to eat. In circumstances like this, he found it was important to concentrate on the most basic of animal needs: food, rest and a stress-free, safe environment.
Maybe Laura would want to talk after that. Whatever she wanted, whatever she needed, Jack would be there for her.
Chapter 40.
Jack lay back on the couch, tucked a pillow behind his head and patted his stomach. It was full of pizza. Even Laura had eaten well after his calm and insistent “I’m the doctor, do as I say,” urging.
The couch wasn't as comfortable as the king sized bed in the other room, but it sure as Hell beat the cots, the sleeping bags and dirt he was used to sleeping in.
He kicked off his shoes and propped his feet up. The day's stress and activities weighed heavily on him.
It had started out so perfectly, one of the best days of his life. Then it all turned to total crap in a blink of an eye—much like any regular day in Iraq. Hell, there was even blood and a visit from the dragon, his old foe, death.
Jack was used to the highs and lows of the warzone.
Every moment could be an emotional roller coaster. The best thing to do when at war was to compartmentalize his feelings. Jack had learned to drive emotions down, to push them deep into the back of his mind to deal with later.
Lives depended on him. He found he couldn't be effective if he was dwelling on crap that he could do nothing about. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d learned how not to be emotionally invested. He knew not to allow things in which he had no control, to control him.
He recalled the man he’d seen following them, the night he and Laura went out to the restaurant. A furtive guy, radiating malicious anger and wearing torn jeans, a dirty shirt and an unkempt beard. Jack felt certain he was Jonah.
If he could just kill that SOB—shoot him dead—or better yet, have the satisfaction of beating him to death….
Jack put his homicidal rage away, before it swept him away.
Somehow his life outside of Iraq seemed a lot like war. Could he continue to keep everything in his head, neatly separate and defined? Or was he a ticking time bomb?
Laura was certainly an emotional curve ball for him. He hadn't planned on things going this far—or did he? If he were being honest with himself, he'd hoped and dreamed it would.
That troubled him. It wasn’t honorable or ethical to associate with the widow of one of his men in this way.
Jack felt guilty, of course, but he was human. Laura was his weakness. Starting from those confiding, personal letters, he'd allowed himself to experience the intimacy that he'd avoided for so long.
Now he craved it.
When you let people in, you take a huge risk. You can get hurt. Badly. It’s painful to lose someone; to care too much, or too deeply. Sometimes it was better to be alone.
He smiled, knowing that with Laura, it was different. She was worth the risk.
If anyone comes near her, I’ll kill them.
This vicious, murderous intent soothed something primal inside him. Tension he hadn’t even been aware of, fell away as he relaxed.
Jack hadn't intended to fall asleep.
It was as if he was on guard, and his post was right here, between Laura and whatever nut-job hard-case was out there looking for her. Falling asleep would be dereliction of duty.
Back in the warzone, Jack would have crucified any person that fell asleep when they were supposed to be on watch.
Nevertheless, he drifted off without realizing it.
The next thing he knew, he was treating a burned soldier back in Iraq, under fire and very likely going to be killed any instant.
~~~
Confused and disoriented, panic and shock clawed at his guts. The smell of scorched flesh filled his nostrils while his body thrashed in an ice cold sweat.
"Get down!" Jack shouted as he startled awake. He swung wildly, but luckily didn't connect.
"Whoa there cowboy, you nearly took my head off," Laura called, as she held up Jack's pillow like a medieval knight with a shield.
Panting breathlessly and feeling stupid, he took in the scene.
"Jesus, Laura," Jack said as he rubbed sleep out of his eyes. "You should know better that to wake up a vet like that. Don't you watch the news? We all have PTSD and stuff."
Her green eyes widened. "You? I don't think for a second that you'd hurt me."
Shaking his head he said, "I wouldn't want to, but you gotta take reflexes into account. I'm not exactly myself in that situation."
"Don't be silly."
When Jack sat up, Laura hit him on the head with the pillow. Stunned and wide eyed, he slanted her an incredulous and indignant look.
“Why did you do that?”
"That's what you get for taking a swing at me."
Still feeling a bit shaky, he managed a playful grin. “Oh? Well, fine. Feel better?”
“Not yet.” Laura hit him with the pillow once more.
“What was that for?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
She dropped the pillow. "That's for thinking that you could ever hurt me…and for frightening me. You were screaming like a madman.” Sheepishly she added, “I guess you were a little scared yourself.”
“I guess I was. Just remember little girl, paybacks a bitch.”
Laura smiled at him.
He couldn't help but notice she was wearing a long T-shirt and nothing else—that he could see anyway.
"Do you know what time it is?” he asked. “How long was I out?"
"A couple of hours. You were yelling and screaming I thought—” ashamed, she lowered her gaze. “I was worried. I got the crazy idea that Jonah was attacking you.” Laura plopped down beside him. "Just what is a ‘vee-bid’ anyway?"
The term brought a vivid and unpleasant memory from his nightmare, right into
Jack's mind. "Never mind. It's not important right now."
"Hmm..."
"What are you doing up anyway?" Jack took the pillow from her and put it aside. "You need your rest."
"I couldn't sleep."
"You should try. I could go downstairs and see if I can rustle up some Benadryl. That ought to knock you out."
"Benadryl?” She put a lock of hair behind her ear and snorted derisively. “What am I, six? Besides, I don't use drugs of any kind. That stuff messes you up."
"No kidding. I think we got evidence of that today." Jack leaned forward from where he sat on the couch. "Who is this Jonah guy? Seems damned dangerous to me."
"He's a selfish asshole and an idiot. I’ve seen him lose his temper, sure, but this? I can barely believe it."
"But you do believe it."
"Yes," she said softly. "Yes, I do."
"Well then, it's good that he's out there and we're in here. The cops’ll get him. I promise to keep you safe until they do."
“I promise to keep you safe too, Jack. We can protect each other.”
He grinned remembering how she’d attacked him with a pillow. “I don’t know why, but I’m not going to laugh about that. You’re a formidable woman, Ms. Wynn.”
She smirked. “Yes I am.”
Chapter 41
Jack stood, put his blanket around Laura, and tucked it in, over her shoulders like a shawl. "Now, why don't you go back to bed? I'll keep watch."
"Through closed eyelids, like you were a second ago?" She giggled. "Or do you think that wall-bending snoring of yours will scare him away?"
"C'mon, I don't snore." Jack scooped up the pillow and tossed it at her.
She dodged it easily.
"Here's the thing, Jack." Laura let the blanket fall from her shoulders and sat down beside him, leaning into him. "I’ve had enough quiet time by myself. I thought I needed that, but I was wrong. I really don't want to be alone."
"Are you sure? I don't want to take—"
"Please don't say no."
He looked down at her and felt his lips curl up in a roguish smile. “I’d never say no to you, Laura.”
