by Regan Black
“I’d like that,” she answered softly, steeling herself not to visibly quiver when he smiled at her.
“Good.” Kyle held out his hand, as if they were sealing the bargain with a handshake. “Friends.”
“Friends,” she repeated. The instant her fingers connected with his, she wondered how it was that he didn’t know she’d lied. Couldn’t he feel what she felt when they touched? He’d always be more than a friend to her. She supposed she’d better get used to hiding her feelings where Kyle was concerned.
Heather and Bret finally appeared, both gamely trying to pretend nothing was amiss. Bret carried a platter of thick steaks. He’d put on an apron with the words “Will grill for sex” emblazoned across the front.
“We’re about ready to start grilling,” Heather said with a casual smile. “Are you all hungry?”
“Let me help.” Kyle jumped up. “Though it’s been a long time since I’ve grilled anything.”
“I’m a pro.” Bret grinned. “Hang with me and I’ll show you how it’s done.”
The two men moved off, backslapping and cutting up.
Watching them go, Nicole struggled to conceal her longing. When she realized Heather had noticed, she shook her head. “I still have to pinch myself,” she admitted. “I’m so happy he’s alive.”
“I can imagine.” Heather didn’t probe or push Nicole to admit anything. “I’ve got to go make sure everything else is ready.” She winked. “But what I need the most is to sit down. My ankles are really swelling in this heat.”
“Let me help you.” Getting to her feet, Nicole picked up Jacob’s carrier and followed the other woman into the house. Heather waddled, which made Nicole smile, since not too long ago she’d done the same.
“There’s really nothing to do,” Heather said, laughing slightly. “I made potato salad and some baked beans. The beans are in the crockpot.” She eased herself into a chair, one hand protectively on her large stomach. “I can’t wait to have this baby.”
“I remember feeling like that.” Nicole picked up her son, crooning softly to him. Jacob responded with a chortle, his hands waving furiously.
“He’s absolutely adorable,” Heather said. “May I hold him?”
“Of course.”
Heather made a huge fuss over the baby, talking baby talk and making sounds, finally eliciting a prized smile from him. Right after that, he burped.
“I saw you two at the ER,” Heather said. “I was having some Braxton Hicks contractions. I’m so sorry I didn’t get a chance to check on you. What was the problem?”
Nicole explained. “So I’ve got to keep bees and wasps away from him,” she concluded. “I’ve already purchased an EpiPen Jr, just in case, even though he’s too young for it right now.”
The two women chatted, Heather still holding Jacob, until the two men reappeared bearing the platter of cooked steaks, which smelled delicious.
As the foursome sat around the kitchen table, sharing the meal, Nicole found herself relaxing. No one here acted as if they needed to handle her with kid gloves since she was newly widowed. In fact, after a brief expression of sympathy for her loss, neither Heather or Bret mentioned Bill at all. Instead, it felt almost as if they’d picked up right where they’d been back in high school.
When Nicole was ready to leave, Kyle actually walked her to her car. He waited quietly, watching as she buckled Jacob into his infant carrier in the backseat. Once that was done, he eyed her.
Terrified he might actually try for an impersonal hug, Nicole sidestepped him, sliding into the driver’s seat and buckling in. “Take care,” she told him, summoning up what she hoped was a brilliant smile.
“You too.” He smiled back, though his gaze remained watchful and serious. “We’ll talk again soon.”
Then, before she could stop him, he leaned in and kissed her cheek.
As she drove home, she kept reaching up and touching her cheek, feeling like a besotted schoolgirl. She couldn’t help but imagine what might have happened if she’d turned her head just slightly, so that his lips had brushed hers instead.
After getting Jacob settled in for the night, Nicole went downstairs to get a glass of water. Once she had, she checked the locks and turned out the lights, before heading back upstairs.
Halfway up the stairs, the crash of glass breaking made her freeze. She’d left her cell phone on the nightstand next to the bed. And she didn’t have a gun or even know how to use one. Her best option would be to barricade herself in the baby’s room and call 911.
She sprinted up the remaining stairs, into her bedroom, where she snatched up her phone. The nursery—and Jacob—was the next room, so she ran in there, quietly closing the door. Though she knew turning the knob lock wouldn’t deter anyone who was really determined, it was a start. Next, she pushed the rocking chair and the changing table up against the door. Then she called 911, letting them know she had an intruder inside her house. The dispatcher insisted she stay on the line, but Nicole felt strongly the less noise, the better, so she ended the call.
Heart pounding, she stationed herself between the crib and the door, looking around frantically for something she could use as a weapon. Just in case.
But aside from a package of diapers, some towels and assorted baby lotion and powder, she saw nothing. So all she could do was huddle in the dark with her heart pounding, hoping the police would arrive soon.
Time seemed to crawl. She couldn’t hear anything else besides Jacob’s even breathing as he blissfully slumbered. If the intruder was still in the house, he was being very quiet. She shuddered to think of what might have happened if the break-in had occurred after she’d gone to bed. Most likely she wouldn’t have heard the glass shattering and would have had no idea she was no longer alone in her home.
As soon as all this was over, she planned to call an alarm company and have an alarm installed. For now, she just had to stay alive until law enforcement got there.
A moment later, she heard sirens. Really? Why would the police announce their presence like that? She would have thought they’d try to arrive by stealth, which would make it easier to catch any intruder. Either way, she was glad they were here.
A moment later she heard shouting from downstairs. “Police. We’re coming in.”
She waited with bated breath, her entire body shaking, praying the next sound she heard wasn’t gunshots.
Instead, only an awful, ominous silence. What did that mean? Had they caught the intruder or had he gotten away?
“Ma’am? It’s Deputy Frankel,” a man said, his voice loud and concise. “We’ve checked your entire downstairs and it’s clear. Please let us know immediately where you are.”
“I’m in the nursery upstairs with the door closed.”
“Please open that door slowly and keep your hands where we can see them until we’re able to verify your identity.”
Which made perfect sense. Still, her heart rate kicked up yet another notch as she fumbled for the doorknob. She opened the door slowly, raising her hands above her head. “Here,” she said clearly, still hoping she wouldn’t wake Jacob.
Spotting her, the uniformed officer moved forward. A second one appeared at the top of the stairs. “I’m going to check the rest of this floor,” he said. “Deputy Frankel will stay with you until I say clear.”
She nodded. Hopefully, the intruder had gone.
Once the floor had been cleared, the two deputies wanted her to take a look around downstairs and see if anything was missing.
“Nothing appears out of order,” Frankel said. “Except for in one room.”
He was right. The living room, dining room and kitchen looked exactly as she’d left them. She headed toward the office. When she reached the doorway, she stopped and gasped.
“Yep,” Frankel told her. “This is the room I was talking about.”
Papers were strewn everywh
ere. The intruder had apparently gone through the file cabinet, tossing folders and their contents around the room. He’d also ransacked the desk, leaving drawers open.
“It looks like a tornado came through this room,” the deputy said.
He was right. She walked over to the desk, took a look then went back to the file cabinet.
And then she realized something. The third file cabinet drawer, the one she hadn’t been able to get unlocked, sat open. Whatever had been inside it was gone.
* * *
After leaving Bret and Heather’s, Kyle had driven around for a few minutes instead of going straight home. Seeing Nicole had him craving her again, something he hadn’t yet managed to get under control. He wondered if he ever would.
Yet he’d agreed that they’d figure out a way to be friends. Which meant he’d just volunteered to submit himself to a form of torture.
That night, when he fell asleep, once again he relived the worst day of his life.
They traveled in a small convoy, taking turns at who took the most exposed position as gunny. This time, Hank Smith was on the gun and inside the truck the other three of them were making jokes, laughing and trying to act casual. They always did this when heading into danger. Each and every one of them knew they could lose a limb or worse, their life. Dying sat like a heavy dark shadow on each man’s shoulders.
Kyle had that dull headache that always accompanied a hangover. He and the other guys had sat around playing poker and drinking moonshine the night before, long past the time they should have hit the sack. It was a way of blowing off steam when they knew they’d be departing on a dangerous mission the next morning.
Of course, all the missions were dangerous. They expected this. They were army rangers, after all. Highly trained, they went places no one else could go, and did things no one else could do.
So far, they’d been lucky. Or, as they preferred to call it, damned good. They hadn’t lost a single man. There’d been a few injuries here and there. A gunshot wound that had led to a major infection before they got back to base camp had been the most serious. Though no one wanted to be superstitious or jinx things by speaking the words out loud, they all hoped their luck would continue to hold. The one thing everyone knew as a stone-cold fact—it would be far better to be hit by an IED than to have to watch your buddies get hit.
They were a tight-knit bunch. Any of them would willingly die for each other. None of them wanted to be the one left behind.
A flash. Left side. After that, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Their luck had just run out.
The blast must have knocked him unconscious. When he came to, he wasn’t sure what had happened. The acrid scent of burned metal and rubber filled his nose. He tried to stand. His ears were ringing and his legs had turned to rubber. Worse, his vision had gone wonky. Black to gray, in and out.
“Hank?” Voice hoarse, he called out. “Tanner?”
No one answered.
His vision came back enough for him to realize he was on fire. Burning. Stop, drop and roll. He remembered that much. But when he dropped, it hurt so damn bad he blacked out again.
Two men speaking. Foreign tongue. Pashto or Dari, he thought. He knew enough of both dialects that he tried to make out the words. But the pain hit in waves, along with nausea as he realized his own flesh still burned.
He rolled and rolled and rolled, screaming silently, until he’d managed to extinguish the flames. He hoped. But then he’d used up all his energy. Spent, he lay facedown in the dirt, wondering if he pretended to be dead, he’d be spared.
Had his entire unit been wiped out? Maybe they’d gone on, gotten through somehow.
He blacked out again, which brought instant relief from the intense pain. The tugging on the chain he wore around his neck brought him back. His dog tags. Someone was trying to remove his dog tags.
Every soldier knew better. If they were gone, his body would lose all identity. No one would know to notify his family, his loved ones. Nicole. Oh Christ, Nicole.
Eyes slits, he saw the other man’s face. Dark skin, torn and dirty uniform. Rebel, most likely, though several had defected from the local army, joining the opposition.
It didn’t matter who this guy was. What mattered was the way he tried to steal Kyle’s identity.
“No,” he muttered, trying to bat the hand away. “Mine.”
The man laughed and then hauled off and hit him. Burned, dying, Kyle lost consciousness again.
The next time he woke, he was alone. Without his dog tags.
A guttural groan came from the left of him. Using every bit of what remaining energy he could summon, Kyle pushed to his knees and crawled in the direction. There, he found Hank, a large piece of metal lodged in his midsection.
Clearly in pain, clearly dying. Hank looked at Kyle with eyes dulled by the mist of death. “My dog tags,” Smith managed to croak.
“They took mine too,” Kyle said, frantically trying to figure out a way, some way, he could help his buddy.
Hank made a gurgling sound, blood seeping out the corner of his cracked and battered lips. “Here,” he managed, opening his closed fist. Inside, he held one dog tag, the bottom one that was meant to be ripped off and sent back so the family could be notified. Just as Kyle reached for the tag, Hank died, his eyes wide open.
It took three attempts for Kyle to manage to close his friend’s eyes. Then, taking the dog tag, Kyle crawled away on his belly, every movement excruciating. Despite the agony of his pain, despite going in and out of consciousness, he had to find out what had happened to the others. Even if he was slowly dying, he couldn’t rest until he knew.
Two more dead, one headless. Both men’s dog tags were gone. Kyle wasn’t sure why the enemy had taken them, but he hoped he could stay alive long enough to let rescue know, when it came, who they were. It was the least he could do for the brothers who’d fought alongside him. No one wanted to be the one left behind. Kyle had been that unlucky son of a bitch.
His cell phone rang, pulling him from his nightmare. Disoriented, confused, he looked at the screen. Nicole. She’d never call this late unless it was an emergency.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, agitation making her voice shake. “But my house was broken into. The police just left.”
“Broken into? Before you got home?”
“No.” She took a deep breath. “I’d been home a little bit. I’d already put Jacob to bed. I went to get a glass of water and on the way back upstairs, I heard them break in. I called 911.”
Damn. He had to force himself to loosen his grip on his phone, afraid he might break it. “I’m on my way over.”
She started to protest, but he ended the call, cutting her off. No matter what had happened in the year they’d been apart, he still knew Nicole well enough to understand how terrified she had to be. Otherwise, she never would have called him.
He made it to her house in record time. As he pulled up in front, she flung the door open and waited there for him. Silhouetted in the foyer light, she wore shorts and a tank top.
As he hurried up the sidewalk, he noticed she also wore no bra. Instantly, his body sprang to attention.
“Are you all right?” he asked, training his gaze on her earlobe so he didn’t look lower. “And Jacob?”
“We’re fine. Sort of,” she amended. “I feel so violated. A total stranger broke into my house.”
As he stepped inside, she closed and locked the front door after him. “I have no idea what they were looking for,” she continued. “The police said it was unusual too. As if they’d come for something specific. They went directly to Bill’s office. The only thing I could find out of place was a file cabinet drawer. It was locked, but now it’s not. And it’s empty. I have no idea what was in it before.”
“That is strange,” he agreed. Nicole seemed fragile and nervous, hoveri
ng on the verge of tears. He hoped like hell she wouldn’t cry, because he’d no way, no how, be able to resist comforting her then. “How’d they get in?”
“The back door glass is shattered,” she said, her voice wavering. She blinked furiously, still struggling not to cry. “I can’t get a glass company out here until tomorrow and I don’t feel safe knowing anyone can get inside my house.”
Fighting the urge to take her into his arms and comfort her, he nodded. “Let me take a look at it.”
She led him into the kitchen and pointed. “That’s the door that leads out to my patio.”
The door had once had a window that ran the full length of it. Now there was nothing but a few shards of broken glass remaining in the frame.
“I swept up everything,” she continued. “And then vacuumed just in case. I know I need to take out those last few pieces too.”
But she hadn’t. He suspected she’d been afraid of cutting herself.
“Do you have any plywood?” he asked.
She thought for a moment. “Bill had a workshop out back. There might be some lumber in there. Let me get a flashlight and the key and we can go take a look.”
While she went to retrieve the flashlight, he couldn’t help but imagine the sheer terror she must have felt, trapped in her home with an intruder and an infant to protect. He shuddered to think what might have happened.
No doubt reflecting on that would keep Nicole awake at night.
“Here we go.” She reappeared, her expression hesitant. “I hope you don’t mind if I send you out there by yourself. I’m not comfortable leaving Jacob alone right now, even though he’s asleep.”
“I don’t blame you.” Accepting the key and the flashlight, he followed her out onto the back patio. The porch light illuminated a good portion of the large backyard, just enough to let him make out a shed in the back right corner.
“Is there electricity in the shed?” he asked.
“Yes. And it has an outside light by the door, only we don’t keep it on.” She winced, apparently realizing she’d used the plural pronoun.
Again, he battled the urge to touch her, to let her know everything was going to be okay. Except in reality, he wasn’t sure it would be.
