Morgan's Son

by Lindsay McKenna

  Instead of accusation, Craig saw her pain for him. Her lips were parted, glistening with spent tears. Her tears. As she reached out and touched his cheek, trying to smile, he released a tightly held breath. “How can you look at me like that?”

  “How can I not?” She framed his face with her hands and looked deeply into his reddened eyes. “No one in their right mind would accuse, Craig. You did nothing wrong. My God, you almost died trying to help your friends.” She picked up his scarred hands. “Look at this. You burned your hands so badly that you’ll carry the scars for the rest of your life. You walked on a leg that shouldn’t have supported you. You should never have been able to pull at that release handle with your broken ribs and arms.” Her voice cracked. “You’re a very brave man in my eyes. I don’t know that I’d have had the courage you did. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you must have known that your helicopter could blow up, but you disregarded it and went after your friends.” Tears ran down her cheeks, and Sabra ignored them, holding his wounded gaze. “You rescued Summers. That has to be enough. With all your wounds and broken bones, you tried. It’s enough, Craig.”

  Her quiet tear-filled words acted as a balm to Craig’s raw emotions. He saw not the least accusation in her eyes. Amazed, he took her hands and held them in his own. Sabra was crying—for him. No one had cried for him, only for those who hadn’t made it back. He bowed his head and shut his eyes. “When I got flown to Germany, the old uniform they’d cut off me came with me. I—I asked a nurse to look in the pockets. She found the small plastic bag with the locks of hair. I kept asking her to find the white envelope, but she couldn’t. I remember being frantic, knowing how important that letter was. I didn’t know what was in it, but I knew I had to find it. I was nearly out of my mind with pain, but the pain of losing that envelope was worse. They had me on drugs, and I remember floating in and out for days.

  “Every time I regained consciousness, I asked that nurse for the envelope. I don’t know why she didn’t tell me to go to hell, because I bugged her incessantly. About the fourth day I was in Germany, I woke up and saw a dirty white envelope, the edges burned away, lying on my chest. When I realized it was Cal’s letter, I started yelling until finally a nurse came running into my room—a different nurse. I begged her to open it and read it to me, because my hands and arms were a mess.”

  Craig took a deep breath and looked at Sabra. “I think Cal knew he wasn’t going t make it. I’ll never forget what he’d written. He’d asked me to take the letter to Linda, to give it to her.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yeah, after I got out of the series of hospitals I was in. I didn’t make it to Cal’s funeral. I couldn’t be there for Linda and her daughters the way I wanted. I was going through so many operations, it wasn’t funny, and without the use of my arms, I couldn’t even call. I had a nurse dial her, and she held the phone to my ear so I could tell her how sorry I was.” His mouth flattened. “All Linda could do was cry. I don’t remember a whole lot about the call, anyway, because I was on painkillers at the time.”

  “You tried, Craig.”

  “Yes,” he admitted softly, “I tried. But I knew Linda was blaming me. I could hear it in her voice.”

  “How long was that after Cal died?”

  “Two weeks.”

  “Listen,” Sabra said hoarsely, “she was in a state of shock, Craig. For that matter, so were you. You were on drugs, and I’m sure it skewed your perception.”

  With a shrug, he said, “Four months later, I finally slipped out of the hospital and went to see her. I was expecting the worst. Linda had moved away from CampReed, back home to Seattle. She and the girls were living with her parents. I—it was a mess. Her parents looked at me as if I was some kind of monster. The oldest girl, Sammy, started crying when I came into the house. Claire, their youngest, who Cal had named after my mother, just lay in Linda’s arms, staring up at me as if I was a stranger. Before—before we left, Claire had known me. I would go over to their apartment for dinner, and that little girl treated me like an uncle or something. She’d hold her arms out to me the moment she heard my voice.” He looked away. “Maybe it was my burns. I had a pretty ugly face at the time. I guess I didn’t look much like my old self. The kid was probably just frightened.”

  Sabra laid her hand on his arm, hurting deeply for him. “Did you give Linda the letter?”

  “Yeah, I did. Her parents were there behind her, silently accusing me for not saving Cal’s life. Sammy was crying and clinging to her mother’s skirt, and Claire was just staring up at me with those huge green eyes. I felt like a coward. I felt like apologizing for having lived. I gave Linda the plastic bag back, too. I tried to explain, but her father started cursing at me, and I couldn’t handle it. I left. I left without saying goodbye. I did apologize to Linda, though.”

  Swallowing hard, Sabra held his watery gaze. “You shouldn’t have apologized for anything, Craig.”

  “Maybe…At least I got her the letter. At least Cal got to tell his family that he loved them.”

  “Did Linda read the letter right away?”

  He shook his head. “No. She just pressed it to her heart and looked up at me with tears in her eyes.” He released a breath. “Hell, Sabra, it was a messy situation all the way around. I found out later that the State Department hadn’t told them how Cal died. They said it was top secret and they couldn’t divulge the details. About a year after that, Linda contacted me. Over the phone, I told her exactly what had happened. She cried a little and thanked me and hung up.”

  “Did she thank you for trying to save Cal?”

  “No. She was hurting, Sabra.”

  Nodding, she smiled slightly and touched his scarred cheek. “You’ve been through so much alone, Craig.”

  Ignoring her compassion, he added, “After I got out of the military hospital, they wanted me to resume flying. I went back to get some flight time.” His mouth flattened. “I couldn’t do it, Sabra. I went back to CampReed and stood on the tarmac, looking at the same type of helicopter I’d flown in Iraq. I got shaky and vomited. I couldn’t get in the bird.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I knew they thought I was a coward—”

  “No!” Sabra bit back the rest of her cry. “No,” she told him in a low, off-key voice, “you weren’t ever a coward, Craig. Not ever.”

  “The instructor was understanding. Each day, we’d meet at a specific time, and each day I’d get a step closer to that bird. Finally, after a week, I forced myself to sit in the pilot’s seat. I started sweating like a dog and wanting to cry. I remember vomiting out the window. I’d never felt so ashamed. So—so cowardly. He’d been over there. He’d flown missions just like mine.”

  “Only,” Sabra rasped, “he hadn’t suffered through a crash like you had.”

  “That’s true,” Craig said tiredly. He forced a bitter smile. “Well, the upshot of it was I couldn’t fly. I froze at the controls. The instructor would get the bird going, ready to fly, but I couldn’t lift it off. The muscles in my arms and legs would freeze. I couldn’t do it.”

  “Everyone has a personal wall,” Sabra said, holding his tortured gaze. “We all hit it if we’ve been pushed beyond our emotional boundaries. They shouldn’t have forced you back into the cockpit so soon. They should have given you more time.”

  “Time? After that little incident, they sent me to a shrink. He said I was unfit to fly, which was true. I resigned my commission and got out, Sabra. I wasn’t going to embarrass myself like than anymore. Then I went home to New Mexico to heal. I stayed home for six months, got some kind of grip on myself and looked into Perseus. Morgan knew I was an ex-marine pilot, but he never questioned me about why I’d left. I think he knew.”

  “Morgan is very astute about people,” Sabra agreed gently. “He was in a war, too, so he knows.”

  “Yeah, I think he did know a lot about me, but he never said anything. It takes one to know one, I guess.” Craig held up his hands. “Of course, the scars
were pretty obvious. I think he put two and two together.” With a shake of his head, Craig added, “For some reason, I didn’t care if Morgan knew. I trusted him, and I knew he trusted me. When I told him I didn’t want any assignments that involved flying, he just said, ‘Fine.’ That was the end of it. After that, I began to relax more. I got the jobs done for him, and I began to feel like I could do something right. In a way, I think Morgan was assessing my stability. He gave me missions that would build what was left of my confidence. Over the past six months, I really began to mend.”

  “Morgan is wonderful with people,” she quavered, hurting for both Craig and her boss. “I’m beginning to understand your initial reaction to this mission now.”

  He shot her a wry look. “Yeah, well, it sort of took the wind out of my sails, believe me. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if Jenny hadn’t just been killed.”

  “You’ve been reeling from one trauma to another,” she said, even more aware of the level of stress on him.

  Craig met her luminous gaze. “Well, now you know everything, Sabra.” Holding up his hands, he said, “I’m no hero. I’ve screwed up in ways I never thought possible. I’ve lost lives. I’m a coward behind the stick of a helicopter. I’m a loser, big-time.”

  Shocked, Sabra stared at him. It was on the tip of her tongue to refute his allegations. But she realized Craig saw himself that way because he was still blaming himself for everything that had happened. What war did to men was unconscionable in her opinion, making them feel like cowards when in reality they were terribly brave under inhuman circumstances.

  Gently, she slid her hand up his arm until it came to rest on his slumped shoulder. She saw the fear in Craig’s eyes and understood it now. “The man I see in front of me,” she said quietly, “is a hero to me. You did the best you could, Craig, and that’s all anyone can ask of you—ever. I don’t care if Linda or her parents ever forgive you. I don’t care if you can never sit in the cockpit of a helicopter again.” She tightened her hold on his shoulder. “What about the man who saved my life last night? You didn’t lose it when they tried to kill us. No, you kept your wits about you. If anything, Craig, I was the one who was shaken up. You were thinking all the time. You thought of digging the trenches for us to hide in.”

  “Maybe I just got lucky.”

  “I don’t think so.” Sabra leaned upward and placed her lips against the tight line of his mouth—a mouth that held back so much force of emotions. Gently, she slid her lips against his and felt the hard line dissolve beneath her exploration. Time was not on their side. As much as she wanted to love Craig again, she knew it was impossible. She felt him groan, his mouth opening and taking her deeply. Smiling to herself, she sank against him, allowing him to absorb her presence. She was the less wounded of the two of them. Let her kisses help heal him, if only a little bit. As she slid her arms around his shoulders, Sabra didn’t fool herself. She knew PTSD wasn’t something that was easily chased away. The healing took place on an individual’s time clock. Some men never got over it. She did realize how far Craig had come in such a small amount of time. That spoke of his courage—a courage he no longer admitted he had.

  Easing her mouth from his, she smiled into his stormy eyes. “I wish we had all the time in the world right now, Craig.”

  He ran his hand along the smooth line of her spine. “So do I, but we don’t.” Frowning, he eased away from her and reluctantly pushed the covers aside. “We need to shower, get dressed and start thinking about a new plan of attack.”

  Sabra watched him stand, then slid off the bed and moved into his welcoming arms. “Do you think Jason is there?”

  “I don’t know, but we’re going to find out. First things first. We need another rental car. Then we’re going to hide out the rest of the day at another motel. We’ll start work tonight. There’s less chance of being detected then.”

  “So, you think Garcia spotted us on the hill?”

  “It’s hard to say. This could be an inside job. Someone in the police department could have tipped Garcia off.”

  With a quirk of her lips, Sabra said, “I hope not.”

  “We can’t trust anyone right now,” he said, leaning down and placing a kiss against her temple. How Sabra could want him to hold her after what he’d told her was beyond him. He was still reeling from the release of his dammed emotions. Sharing had been less painful than he’d thought, but then, Sabra wasn’t an ordinary woman. Craig couldn’t trust his good fortune at finding someone who wasn’t accusing him of being a coward.

  As he stood there with her in his arms, Craig could no longer convince himself that the unnamed feeling that swelled so powerfully through his chest was anything but love—and he was stunned by the force of it. Looking down into her warm gray eyes, he realized just how much he cared for her. His emotions ragged and confused from the events of the past hours, he said nothing. The situation right now was too dangerous for him to contemplate his feelings with the kind of attention they deserved.

  Still, his burgeoning emotions made him hesitate. But how could he let Sabra know? Why would she return his love? He had no right to think he deserved someone as beautiful from the heart outward as she was. Besides, he rationalized, the mission would be jeopardized by further emotional involvement with her. If there was ever a time he needed to force away any romantic notions and count on his realist nature it was now.

  Even as he questioned his own motives, Craig decided to set aside his feelings until he and Sabra could have the safety and leisure to explore them properly—if it was meant to be. With his past, Sabra probably wouldn’t be interested in him beyond these moments of passion born of the fires of danger.

  “Come on,” he said gruffly, “let’s get going.”

  Chapter Ten

  “We need to get a change of clothes, so we’ll blend in like tourists,” Sabra said as she slipped on her shoes. Craig had showered, though he hadn’t been able to shave, and his darkly shadowed jaw made her pulse race. He stood in the bathroom, the door open, pushing his hair into place the best he could with his fingers. His wrinkled, white cotton shirt outlined his magnificent chest—the chest she’d slept on last night, where she’d heard the thud of his brave heart.

  Frustration trickled through Sabra. Craig still thought he was a coward. What would it take for him to see himself as she did? Telling him obviously wasn’t enough. As she walked toward him, she smiled softly. But when he turned his head and met her gaze, shock bolted through her. The look in his blue eyes was once again coldly efficient. Sabra’s world spun out of control, and her smile dissolved. Craig was suddenly unreachable, and she felt stripped. Hurt flowed through her as he moved briskly past her.

  Craig scowled. He saw Sabra’s vulnerable features register shock, then confusion. Her lips were still pouty from his kisses, and he longed to pick her up and carry her back to bed. He shook his head, forcing his heated thoughts away. “First, we need to get a rental car. We’ll leave the equipment here, for now. Then we’ll change motels and get some clothes and toiletry items.”

  “Good idea.” Sabra struggled to get a grip on her rioting feelings. Craig had always been up-front with her. He’d warned her he was bad news to any woman—especially her. Why had she let her heart get involved?

  “We’ll wear our weapons.”

  She hesitated. “I can’t. I don’t have a jacket to hide the holster.”

  Craig grimaced. “Okay.” He slipped into his shoulder-holster assembly, picked up his weapon from the carpet and took the bullet out of the chamber. “We’re going to have to be careful. I didn’t get a look at who was after us.”

  “We should take back alleys or side streets.”

  “Right.” He pushed the clip back inside the pistol and holstered it. Sabra handed him his jacket, and he shrugged it on. “If we get attacked, we need to split up.”

  She sat on the bed, frowning. “I wish we had backup.”

  “We don’t. At least not until Killian gets here with the Lea
rjet. We need to call in and find out his arrival time.”

  Sabra felt his hand brush the top of her head in a brief caress, the gesture surprising her. She quickly looked up at him, but Craig’s face was expressionless. Still, she gloried in his small, meaningful touch. Why had he done it? There was so much she wanted to talk about, but none of it was relevant right now.

  “Ready?” he demanded.

  “Yes.” Sabra rose and gathered what was left of her courage. As they approached the door, she whispered unsteadily, “Craig, I’m not sorry about what happened between us. No matter what goes on out there. Okay?”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Do you think I’m sorry?”

  Sabra shook her head and drowned in his hooded blue eyes. “I—no, but I just wanted to let you know in case…” She couldn’t say it. In case she was killed. Or he was.

  She chewed on her lower lip, unable to hold his burning gaze. “There’s something I need to tell you, Craig, before we leave this room.” Even if he didn’t love her, she knew he respected her. And that was enough.

  Craig’s heart pounded with dread, but he nodded. “Okay, what is it?” It was impossible to steel himself emotionally for whatever Sabra might say, but he suspected it wasn’t going to be anything good. As desperate as he was, he had no guard against her. He smoothed the fabric of her blouse across her shoulders, where he felt the accumulated tension.

  “Once,” Sabra whispered, looking away, “I loved a man. His name was Captain Joshua David. He was a pilot in the Israeli Air Force. I—I met him when I was with the Mossad. I met him at a party one night for officials. He came over and told me he’d fallen in love with me with one look. I didn’t believe him, of course, and to tell you the truth, Josh was a jokester who played tricks on everyone. I didn’t know it at the time. I just thought he was one of the crazy, drunk pilots at the party.