by Laura Taylor
She remembered how she’d given herself to Dev in innocence so many years ago, and how he’d cherished her that first time and each time thereafter. A potent lover, he’d ruined her for any other man, a fact that had become evident during her short, passionless marriage.
She’d known since the moment she’d walked out of his life that Dev alone possessed the key that would unlock her heart and help her to realize her dream of an emotionally fulfilling life. But she also knew that he deserved the whole truth about why she’d run from him and their love ten years ago. But how could she reveal her true fear—the fear still lodged in the core of her soul—the same fear that had haunted her since childhood.
Although Dev knew that she considered loving a warrior a risk–filled proposition, he didn’t really grasp the true cause and depth of her secret terrors. Jessica feared two things—that she would fail Dev, and that she was destined to become as emotionally unstable as her mother if ever put to the test.
5
"Talk to me, Dev," she urged after he rejoined her in front of the fire and then lapsed into a brooding silence. "Whatever happened is obviously still troubling you. I know I can’t solve your problems for you, but I’m willing to help you carry the load if you’ll let me."
He studied her, his expression unrevealing. Shifting under his scrutiny, she reached out and placed her hand on his arm. Springy dark hair that felt like rough silk and warm, musk–scented skin awakened and aroused her senses yet again, but she didn’t pull away. She couldn’t. Dev needed her.
"You must be tired."
"I’m okay," Jessica assured him.
"We both ought to get some sleep."
Jessica knew that any sleeping done that night wouldn’t be accomplished easily thanks to the chaos outside. The rumbling bouts of thunder reminded her of a noisy bowling alley, and she suspected that the unstable weather front hovering over the Mid–South would remain with them for quite some time.
"You don’t have to sit down here with me if you’re tired," he said.
"There isn’t any place else I’d rather be, so stop trying to chase me away. But if you want to be alone, just say so."
When he said nothing and continued to stare at the fire, Jessica remarked, "You’re a million miles away, aren’t you?"
The side of his mouth briefly quirked upward. "Just several thousand."
"The Middle East?"
He set aside the brandy snifter and leaned forward to stretch the kinks from his lower back. Jessica smoothed her fingertips up his arm and across his shoulder. Hopeful that she could help Dev relax, she massaged the back of his neck until she heard a shuddering sigh escape him.
"Tell me what happened to you," she urged in the gentlest voice possible.
"Nothing important happened to me, but I may have caused a man’s death."
She stiffened. His sudden confession and the anguish in his voice stunned her. "That’s crazy! You’d never harm anyone unless you were defending yourself in combat."
"If I’d been doing my damn job, he’d be alive."
"You’re not making any sense."
"I’m making perfect sense, Jessica. You’re just not listening to me."
She refused to be put off by his sarcasm. "Who are you talking about?"
"My WSO, David Winslow."
"Define a WSO."
"Weapons Systems Officer."
"I take it you’re good friends."
"We are… we were," he amended.
"Did you see him die, Dev?"
He shook his head.
"Then how can you assume he’s dead? And how in the world can you assume responsibility?"
"I was the pilot," he said, his voice harsh, "which means I’m responsible for the personnel aboard the aircraft, not just the mission."
"I understand all that. I grew up with it, remember?" When he glanced at her, she saw the pain and the self–recrimination shadowing his dark eyes. "Can you talk about the specifics? Perhaps together we can make some sense of it."
"I can’t ask you to do that, Jessica. It wouldn’t be fair or right. Besides, the experts have been rehashing it for nearly three months. We’re not going to come up with anything new."
"Let’s concentrate on what’s right for you."
"Look, I know better than anyone how hard it is for you to deal with jet talk. Plus, it’s late and you need your sleep."
Her patience snapped. "Damn it, Dev! You haven’t got a clue about what I can or cannot handle, so don’t presume to make judgments about my ability to deal with reality, even the reality of military aviation. I may have been extremely sensitive about the subject several years ago, but I had the best possible reason. I was still grieving for my father."
"I didn’t mean…" he began, but she waved him to silence.
"Yes, you did mean, so don’t lie to yourself or to me. You’ll probably always classify me as some monumental basket case, because I had a hard time coming to terms with my father’s death in one of those jets you love so much. Well, I’m not a basket case. I can’t afford to be. What I am is smart enough now to accept the fact that my father was one of tens of thousands of fatalities in the long history of wars and other misnamed conflicts in our not so perfect world. I’m not unique. There are numerous people just like me… we’re the survivors, so stop coddling me. I don’t like it, and I won’t tolerate it."
Jessica paused to compose herself. Although she noted Dev’s stunned expression, she ignored it. She intended to set him straight, and now was as good a time as any.
"I’m sorry I yelled at you, but I’m fully capable, and probably better equipped than any other woman you know, to conduct a conversation about flying, especially if it helps you to ease the burden you’re carrying right now. I am also quite capable of being a compassionate friend to you, a friend who’s willing to listen and share your pain. Take advantage of my offer now, because I can’t and won’t keep beating my head against this wall you’ve built around yourself."
"Jessie…" he whispered.
"Jessica, Dev. Call me Jessica," she ordered. Jessie was the name he’d always whispered during their lovemaking.
Dev’s jaw tightened until his face reminded her of carved stone. The firelight cast additional shadows across it, and she thought he looked almost threatening.
"Forget it. You probably mean well, but you’re being reckless. If you won’t protect yourself, then I’ll do it for you."
"I don’t need protection. I need honesty. And for the record, I can’t just forget it where you’re concerned, especially since you seem to be torturing yourself over an incident beyond your control. Tell me the whole story," she pleaded. "And quit hiding your feelings. I’ve lived that way, and I know it’s a mistake. Let me give you the same gift you gave me all those years ago, Dev. Let me help you in the same way that you helped me. I was numb and frightened when we first met, but you helped to heal me with love and compassion and understanding and patience. You helped me to give myself permission to actually feel my emotions. Let me be your friend now, and I’ll repay the debt I owe you. Don’t shut me out."
"You’re fighting for me."
She trembled when she heard the astonishment in his voice. "Of course, I’m fighting for you. You’d fight for me if our circumstances were reversed, wouldn’t you?"
He nodded. Then, he pressed a hot kiss to her fingertips after she smoothed away the solitary tear that had trailed down his cheek and snagged in the seam of his lips.
"I’m not some scared kid anymore, Dev. I’m an adult, so trust me to know what I can handle. Alright?"
"I don’t want to hurt you."
"You’re not hurting me." She pressed her palm to the side of his face. "You’re hurting yourself, and it’s got to stop."
Leaning back, Dev rested his head against a bank of pillows and stared at the ceiling. Need thrived in him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he risked shattering the peace Jessica had found for herself if he spoke of the tragedy that had robbed David Win
slow of his freedom and, very possibly, his life. Circling her shoulders with his arm, he held her so that she was against his torso with her head resting against his chest.
He felt her warmth and compassion as she tenderly stroked the top of his free hand. He needed her. More important, he finally realized that he had to trust the instinct that had sent him in search of Jessica in the first place. Otherwise, he might never feel whole again. He also might never climb back into a cockpit.
"I was stationed in the Middle East for nearly five months," Dev began quietly. "Our squadron had the task of flying visual recon missions as a part of the multi–national peacekeeping force operated by the U.N. We knew there were pockets of resistance in the desert. We’d even tripped over these guys and their anti–aircraft guns a few times, but the missions seemed to develop a sameness about them after several months. I hate to admit it, but I think we all settled into some sort of mental version of the same old, same old routine when we were flying."
Jessica remained still as she listened to the sound of Dev’s subdued voice.
"Dave and I launched just before dawn. The weather forecast was lousy, and the C.O. ordered us to complete our mission ASAP. It was supposed to be a quick in and out. We scouted the area, flying low, confirming the location of some of the nomads who made their homes in the desert, making certain that unauthorized troop movements weren’t taking place, and flying over some of the refugee camps to make sure they knew we were in the area."
"So, it really was a routine mission?"
"Yeah, until some assholes started firing surface to air missiles at us. It was a heavy barrage of firepower that seemed to come out of nowhere. Desert camouflage conceals a lot, especially when a sandstorm is kicking up, so we didn’t see them. It all happened so damned fast. Hell, I couldn’t believe it when those rounds smacked into us. Neither could Dave. The damage to the plane was immediate and severe. I knew almost instantly that we’d have to bail out before the fuel tanks exploded. The hydraulic system went totally haywire. As it was, I had one hell of a time trying to control the plane before we ejected."
When Dev paused, she commented. "It doesn’t sound as if you had too many options."
"We didn’t." He tightened his hold on Jessica’s hand, unaware that her fingers were almost numb from his grip.
"Keep talking," she whispered.
"I sent out a may–day alert before we ejected. The winds separated us almost immediately. I activated my emergency SAR signal even before I hit the deck. Once I was down, I started to search for Dave. The helicopter Search and Rescue guys were on top of us within ten minutes, but they were going crazy trying to get visuals on us in all that blowing sand. Plus, they were dodging the rounds coming at them. I was still looking for Dave. I kept plowing through those damn shifting dunes, eating sand until I thought I’d gag, and getting more worried by the minute because I couldn’t raise him on the radio."
"What happened then?"
"One of the Search and Rescue crews got a fix on him, notified me, and told me to stay put. Like a fool, I did. Another SAR crew picked me up."
"You followed the instructions of the men and women risking their lives as they tried to rescue you, and you think you’re a fool?"
Dev heard her disbelief. "I should never have stopped looking for Dave… he depended on me. He trusted me not to leave him behind."
"Dev, you had no choice. SAR assumes control when a pilot and his crew are downed, and we both know they have the best vantage point in a situation like that."
"The circumstances were unique."
"Did they ever lie to you?"
"No, but they didn’t tell me the entire truth until I was aboard the helicopter. It was too late to do anything then."
"What about Dave? Had he already been captured?"
"He was only seconds from being rescued when he warned the pilot off his location."
"So you would have jeopardized your own life and the lives of two search and rescue teams if you’d persisted in trying to locate and save your friend?"
He studied her face once she eased away from his chest and peered up at him. "That’s what they said."
"Why would they lie to you?"
"They probably didn’t, but I…" His voice trailed off.
Jessica spoke the words for him. "… you feel guilty because you made it out and he didn’t. You were and still are worried about your friend. You felt and still feel responsible for his survival, because you’re theoretically responsible for the fate of the crew of the aircraft. And you feared and still fear that he might have been tortured or executed if he managed to live long enough to be imprisoned."
He nodded jerkily. Unclenching his jaw, he admitted in a voice roughened with emotion, "That about sums it up."
"What happened after you were extracted?"
"You know the drill… medical checks, debriefings, counseling by the squadron C.O., psychiatric evaluations, convalescent leave, etcetera, etcetera."
"You’ve left a few things out, haven’t you?" she asked with an indulgent smile.
"As I said, you know the drill."
"I assume the people who debriefed you said that you hadn’t made any mistakes."
"Amazing, huh?" he said cynically. "I’m not some candy–ass. They could’ve at least been honest."
"I’m not amazed, not at all. You don’t make mistakes, Dev. You’re one of the finest pilots in the Marine Corps, and you’ve got the commendations to prove it. You’re also a Top Gun grad, a former instructor pilot, and I’ll bet you’re already on the promotion list for Lieutenant Colonel. Need I continue?"
He didn’t know what to say, so he just stared at her.
"You made the international news, you know. I suspect you remember the reporter who interviewed you aboard the carrier when you were in the Persian Gulf. Quite a beautiful woman, as I recall. She looked as though she wanted to make a meal of you during the interview. I also noticed that she didn’t give any of the other pilots aboard the aircraft carriers the kind of time on camera she gave you. And she seemed to take great pleasure in touching your arm while she itemized your credentials."
"Jealous?" A faintly hopeful smile softened his hard features and eased some of the pain in his eyes.
"Certainly not," she protested. "Although I probably shouldn’t admit it, I was very proud of you."
"Why, Jessie?"
"Because you were receiving credit for something you do well. I’ve had the same pleasure with my writing, and I understand how good it can make a person feel to be appreciated for a high level of commitment and skill."
"You’re amazing, lady. Truly amazing."
"You wish your friend had been rescued instead of you."
Dev closed his hand into a tight fist. "He didn’t deserve this."
"And you did?" Jessica asked.
"Of course, not. No one deserves to be imprisoned or tortured or executed because he happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Do you think he’s still alive?"
"I hope to Christ he’s still alive. If anyone could outlast the bad guys, it’d be Dave Winslow, but…" He cleared his throat and met her gaze. "… it’s been three months now. No one’s heard anything about his status, and we don’t have diplomatic relations with the country in question. The Canadians are trying to find out if he’s still alive, I think, but no one at Headquarters Marine Corps will talk to me. I’ve spoken to a few retired pilots who survived after being shot down during Desert Storm in 1990, and what they described is Stone Age level treatment of prisoners."
Jessica paled at his mention of the first Gulf War, commonly known as Operation Desert Storm among military personnel. It had been the war that had robbed her of her father twenty plus years earlier.
"They told me about the conditions… the torture sessions… the deliberate brutality… public executions. Not much has changed in those countries since Desert Storm."
"Dev, we both understand the reality of your friend’s situation. Bu
t whatever his fate, he wouldn’t wish it on you, would he?"
Dev shook his head.
She pressed her palm to the side of his face. "I think you know you aren’t responsible for whatever is happening to him. I also believe that your friend would be furious if he knew you were tormenting yourself this way."
"Dave’s one of the good guys."
"Then trust God, and trust David Winslow to depend upon his own instincts and the skills he learned in survival school. Forgive yourself for being home, even though he isn’t back yet, and start believing in yourself again, because you deserve to. You haven’t done anything wrong, Dev. You’re one of the good guys, too, and you found yourself in an unexpected situation that’s turned your life upside down and your self–image into a pretzel. I know what that feels like."
"After your divorce?" he asked.
"Yes. The guilt I felt almost destroyed me."
"But you were honest with him and you tried your best."
"The same can be said of Devlin Mackenzie, jet jockey extraordinaire." She laughed. "That’s a mouthful, isn’t it?"
He studied her, feeling as though he was seeing her for the very first time. "When did you become such a wise and optimistic woman?"
"When I accepted myself, flaws and all," she admitted. "When I forgave myself for the mistakes I’d made, whether real or imagined, and when I gave myself permission to take care of myself before I take care of anyone else."
"I’m impressed."
She responded to his comment with a startled look, and she failed to offer even token resistance when he tugged her into his arms and lowered his lips to the soft curve that joined her neck and shoulder. Jessica slipped her arms around his waist and whispered his name, and Dev knew in that instant that he’d finally returned to the emotional home he’d lost ten years earlier.
He savored the press of her full breasts against his chest and the heat of her skin, all of which sent streamers of sensation across his flesh despite the barrier of her modest nightgown. His hunger for this woman, his soul–deep longing for the solace and release he would find in the depths of her passion, intensified with each passing second.
