by Dee Davis
“So what made you do it?” Hannah asked. “Take the job, I mean. Simon said you were interested in medicine back in the day. Homeland Security seems like a pretty significant change of course.”
For a moment, Jillian hesitated. There were parts of the story she simply wasn’t ready to share. Especially not with a friend of Simon’s. But there was no reason to cut Hannah off. She was just trying to be friendly and keep Jillian’s mind off the pain. So, with a sigh, she settled for a partial truth.
“I gave up the idea of medical school when I got married.”
“That was right after college?” Hannah smiled. “Simon doesn’t like talking about his past all that much. But when it was clear the two of you knew each other, he told us about the three of you in college. Your husband’s name was Ryan, right?”
“Yeah. We sort of got married on the spur of the moment.” An understatement. “He and Simon had just enlisted, and I guess I was feeling left out.” And hurt. “So when Ryan asked, I said yes.”
“Sounds less than romantic.” Hannah’s gaze was probing for a moment, and then she turned back to her work. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”
“That’s okay. We were really young and impulsive.” And just like her mother, Jillian had traded all of her dreams for a wedding ring and the wrong man.
“But surely you still could have gone to medical school?”
“Not without amassing a world of debt. And I couldn’t do that to Ryan. Not just starting out. I figured there’d be time enough later. Pretty unrealistic, I guess.”
“Life is about trade-offs.” Hannah shrugged, taking a last stitch. “Sometimes it pays off. Sometimes not. So how did you adjust to life on base?”
“It was hard. I mean, Ryan and Simon were gone most of the time.”
A blessing in hindsight, but in the beginning, she’d felt so alone. And when Ryan was home, it hadn’t always been pretty. She winced at the memory. Relieved that Hannah would think it was because of the physical pain.
“I know what you mean. I’ve always said that military spouses have the hardest job.”
“I tried to keep busy. I took some nursing courses and volunteered at the base clinic. It wasn’t med school, but it was something. At least until…” Her mind flashed on the image of Ryan’s funeral. The flag-draped coffin. Simon in his service dress uniform. She’d wanted to reach out to him, but all she’d been able to think about were the awful secrets being buried that day.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Hannah said, her eyes full of sympathy, and Jillian took comfort even though Hannah didn’t truly understand. “It must have been really awful. Especially to lose Ryan like that.”
“You think you’ve prepared yourself,” Jillian said, still fighting the memories. “You imagine the worst over and over when they’re gone. But then when the officers show up at your door, it’s nothing at all like what you imagined.” She could still see them standing there. Her thoughts rushing immediately to Simon. Praying that he be alive. That he be unhurt. And then the guilt had hit her. Ryan was the one who was dead. And no matter what he’d done, who he’d become, he was still her husband. And she’d…
“You okay?” Hannah asked, her eyes kind behind her glasses. “Am I hurting you?”
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “Just tough memories.”
“I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“It’s okay. It’s part of the reason I’m here actually. Because of what happened in Somalia, Ryan died a hero, and the Navy brass figured the best way to promote the success of the war was to trot out the hero’s widow.”
“You.”
“Exactly. And it didn’t hurt that my father was a general. Army. Two tours in Vietnam and, after that, a career with the Pentagon. So essentially, I became a commodity. Paraded about to smile and shake hands. Anything for the greater good. Believe me, there were days I wanted to run away screaming.” The paradox had almost killed her, actually. Celebrating her husband as a hero, while trying to deal with the memory of the man who’d almost destroyed her.
“But you didn’t,” Hannah said, tying off the surgical thread, “because you’re a strong woman. I’ve seen you in action. Or at least I’ve seen the aftermath.” She spread some ointment on a bandage and carefully placed it over the newly sutured wound. “And besides, it takes one to know one.” She grinned, her smile making her look impish. “So is that how Homeland Security found you? All that greater good bullshit?”
“More or less.” Jillian nodded, grateful to be back on safer ground. “The director of Homeland Security and my father go way back. I ran into him at an event. And after catching up on old times, he mentioned that he was looking for someone to be a part of his disaster training program. Someone to coordinate the department’s efforts to keep the nation’s first responders ready for anything.”
“And he thought you were the right person for the job.”
“I don’t know. I guess. Between the premed and nursing classes, I had enough medical background to fill the bill. But I suspect his friendship with my father had a lot to do with it. As I said, they’re pretty tight.”
“And your father was worried about you.”
“Something like that,” she shrugged. Her father had seen it as a way to enhance his reputation. In his mind, wives and daughters were meant to be displayed. Accessories to be used to their greatest advantage. “Anyway, there was also the whole widow of a hero thing—it played well in the press and meant that I was openly received by most everyone I needed to work with.”
“But Avery said you’d been trained as an agent.”
“I was. It was part of the deal. The director figured that if the disaster drills ever became reality—”
“Which, as we proved with the helicopter crash, is a when not if,” Hannah interjected.
“True.” Jillian shifted on the stool. “Anyway, in that kind of situation, obviously I needed a different skill set.”
“And did you make the right decision?” Hannah asked. “Accepting the director’s offer?”
“Well, in the middle of training, I had some pretty serious doubts. It was a tough nine months. But I also realized just how badly I needed a purpose in my life. Something separate from Ryan and the Navy. And I’m not the kind to back down from a challenge. So yeah, I think I did the right thing.” She laughed, surprised at how easy it had been to talk with Hannah even if she’d only shared a revised version of the truth. “Probably more than you wanted to know. I’d say it was the drugs, only you haven’t really given me anything but a local.”
“Blame it on my curiosity,” Hannah said with a smile. “There aren’t that many women in our line of work, and I’m always interested in what brought them to the party. And let me be the first to say how grateful we are that you were out there today. Without your quick thinking, we might have lost Simon. And he’s become very important to all of us.”
It was a sentiment Jillian shared, for better or worse, but she wasn’t willing to talk about it with Hannah, no matter how friendly the woman was.
“All right,” Hannah said, thankfully not pushing for anything more. “We’re all done here. But I want you to promise you’ll see a doctor as soon as things calm down.”
Jillian lifted both hands in supplication. “I swear. I’ve already got an appointment. Follow-up from the helicopter crash. It’s been a hell of a week.”
“No kidding,” Simon said, appearing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his voice washing over her like some kind of tonic. “You okay?”
“Couple of stitches.” She pulled her shirt into place as Hannah cleared away the medical supplies. “You?”
“Nothing a good stiff drink won’t cure.” He walked farther into the room, his limp more noticeable than usual.
“You’re sure you shouldn’t see a doctor? I mean, after everything you’ve been through.”
“Talk about the pot calling the kettle black,” Hannah said with a laugh as she walked
out of the room.
“She has a point.” Simon had moved closer now, standing only inches away, his breath warm against her cheek. “You were injured to start with. And now…” he trailed off, looking at the bloody gauze in the trashcan.
“I told you it’s just a cut and a few stitches. Nothing to worry about. But your leg—”
“Is going to be just fine.” He brushed a strand of hair back from her face. “Thanks to you.”
“I already told you it was nothing.” Her brain was telling her to move. To widen the distance between them, but the rest of her wasn’t listening, concentrating instead on the cadence of his breathing and the silvery flecks in the depths of his eyes.
“Like hell.” He leaned closer, framing her face with his hands. She tried to ignore the feel of his skin against hers, but memory surfaced, and she caught her breath, waiting. “You’ve always had my back, J.J.”
“I just reacted in the moment,” she whispered. “I saw what he was going to do, and all I could think was that he was going to hurt you. And I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”
The minute the words were out, she regretted them. But he took them as an invitation, his lips closing on hers, the heat of contact setting her nerves on fire. And for just a moment, she allowed herself the pleasure, opening to him, their tongues touching, tasting. Drinking deeply. Sharing a passion born of fear and relief and other emotions she wasn’t willing to put a name to, the past and the present blending together, the horrors of the last few days receding against the power of their attraction.
In the circle of his arms she felt safe.
And trapped.
She’d been here before. And she knew the cost was too high. She’d only just found herself again. And she’d sworn that she wouldn’t let anyone take that away. Not even Simon.
Especially not Simon.
She pushed away, rubbing the back of her hand against her lips. “I’m sorry. We can’t. I can’t.” The words were low, almost a whisper, but he reacted as if she’d yelled them, stepping back, his expression impossible to read.
“I’m the one who should be sorry. I took advantage—”
“No. I was right there with you. It’s just…” she trailed off, unsure of what to say. There was so much standing between them.
“Ryan,” he said, having no idea just how right he actually was. “I know. And like I said, I was out of line. I promise, it won’t happen again.”
She nodded, knowing it was the right decision, and yet wishing somehow that it could be different. And as he turned to walk out the door, she reminded herself that loving a soldier came with a high price. She hadn’t lied when she’d told Hannah that losing Ryan had been far worse than anything she’d ever imagined. What she hadn’t said, however, was that on the day the soldiers had stood at her door, when she’d been so frightened for Simon, she’d also wished Ryan dead. And the guilt still clawed at her, refusing to let her go.
“Okay, people,” Avery said, settling in at the head of the large table in the brownstone’s war room. The whole team was gathered there. Harrison and Hannah in one corner, huddled around their computers. Nash and Drake flanking Avery on the right side of the table with Tyler and J.J. on the left, their blonde heads bent together as they whispered about something.
Simon settled at the far end of the table, his gaze still on J.J., who was smiling over at Avery now. She’d certainly managed to make herself an integral part of the team in short order. Not that he begrudged her the fact. She’d already proven her mettle, saving his ass in the warehouse. Hell, maybe that was the problem. He was supposed to be the one doing the saving.
Or maybe it was just the fact that he’d let his emotions get the better of him and kissed her. What the hell had he been thinking? Even if there wasn’t the ghost of Ryan standing between them, there was still the matter of behaving in a professional manner. He sure as shit wouldn’t have kissed Drake for saving his life. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. J.J. had always managed to get under his skin.
But her heart had always belonged to Ryan.
A small voice at the back of his head reminded him of a crisp spring night at an off-campus party, but he ignored it. It had always been Ryan. And even if it hadn’t, she’d sure as hell picked him in the end. And now, thanks to his own arrogance, she’d lost Ryan forever.
Same song. Millionth verse. He’d been out of line. And he wasn’t going to let it happen again. Not that he had a choice. She’d made it pretty damn clear how she’d felt about things. And now—well, now she could hardly look him in the eyes.
He was a first-class shit, no question about it.
And yet, truth be told, he wasn’t actually sorry he’d done it. She tasted just exactly the way he’d remembered. Her lips soft and pliant. And if things were different…
But they weren’t. And there was a hell of a lot more at stake than his libido. He blew out a breath and forced himself to focus on Avery.
“Bottom line,” Avery was saying, “it looks like we’ve had two terrorist attacks in a matter of days. And the only culprits we’ve been able to directly tie to the events are dead.”
“But we can’t know for certain that the second bombing was meant as an actual attack,” Nash said. “It’s possible that Simon and Jillian interrupted the bomber, and he fled the scene, detonating only when he had no other choice.”
“Well, even so, I don’t think that lessens the impact,” J.J. said. “The warehouse was destroyed, the FDR overpass seriously damaged, and at least eight people lost their lives.”
“So we’re damn lucky that Simon and Jillian got there when they did,” Tyler said.
“Don’t look at me.” J.J. shook her head in protest. “Simon is the one who tackled the guy and then chased him into the warehouse.”
“Yeah, well, you’re the one that kept me from getting blown to hell.” He waited, hoping that she’d finally look at him, but instead she lifted a shoulder, her attention still on Avery standing at the front of the room.
“Look, the point is that without the two of you being on the scene, things might have been a hell of a lot worse,” Hannah said. “If that guy had detonated in the actual seaport… There were literally hundreds of people present.”
“But what if the seaport wasn’t the target?” J.J. asked. “What if the guy wouldn’t have detonated at all if we hadn’t arrived at the apartment and spooked him?”
“At least from my perspective,” Tyler said, resting her chin in her hands, elbows planted on the table, “I’d have to say the seaport was the target. First off you have the proximity of the apartment. It’s not practical to try to transport a bomb any great distance, no matter how portable.”
“Especially with the city on alert after what happened at the hospital,” Nash agreed.
“And second, you have the fact that the guy was wearing the bomb. You saw the vest, right?” Tyler turned to Simon.
“Oh, yeah.” He nodded on a sigh. “Believe me, the image is burned into my head.”
“Okay, so if he wasn’t planning to detonate at the seaport, what the hell was he doing wearing the bomb?”
“Testing it?” Hannah suggested. “For weight or something?”
“It’s possible,” Tyler admitted, “but not likely. Even the most dedicated zealot isn’t going to want to lounge around in the thing. Even for a test. You’re lucky the damn think didn’t go off when you tackled him, Simon. Besides, there’s also the fact that the apartment was rigged to blow.”
“They could have triggered it,” Harrison said, glancing up from his computer where he was studying something on the monitor.
“I’ll certainly know more after I’ve had time to go over the site, but from the way you guys described it, I’m thinking it was more likely that it was already set.”
“Meaning that the attack was already in play before Simon and Jillian ever arrived,” Avery said, leaning against the edge of the table.
“On first blush, I’d have to say that th
at seems the most likely scenario. But the pieces still don’t fit together in any kind of coherent whole. Even if we agree that we’ve got an organized, disciplined group of players ready and willing to sacrifice for the cause—”
“Or not so willing in the case of Dearborn,” Drake inserted.
“We’ve still got completely different MOs. The first, hijacking a helicopter to crash into a hospital with a very limited population, and the second, a suicide bomber set to take out a major tourist hub.”
“So they’re escalating.” Nash shrugged.
“Yeah, maybe, but there’s still got to be some kind of plan or pattern. Some logic to the progression, and I’ll be damned if I’m seeing it.” Tyler blew out a breath, clearly frustrated.
“Another thing that feels off about all of this,” Hannah said, her eyes narrowing as she considered her words, “is that there’s been no chatter. Nothing to point at any of this happening. The whole reason for acts of terrorism is to take credit for the blow. And there’s been absolutely nothing.”
“Not to mention the efforts to cover everything up.” Simon stood, needing movement to better order his thoughts. “First there was the switch with the real Wilderman. And then fake Wilderman and Essex, the pilot. And the second explosion in the helicopter to destroy evidence.”
“And then there’s Dearborn moving out of his old apartment to a new one that was wired for destruction,” Drake continued. “Not to mention the guy in the warehouse and his one-way ticket straight to hell.”
“It seems like they’re more interested in covering their tracks than taking credit for any of their actions,” Tyler agreed.
“Well, to some extent you’d expect that,” Avery said. “In most situations with a plot this intricate, there’s a hierarchy. And the people at the bottom levels rarely have knowledge of anything more than their small, unique part in the grand scheme of things. It’s only at the upper levels that the big picture is revealed.”
