“I can’t believe this movie is over,” Sienna said, smiling when she saw him set the picnic basket down and retrieve a blanket for them to sit on.
Craig waited for her to sit before he lowered himself beside her. “Are you ready for a vacation? Three months is a long time.”
“Actually, my vacation may not last quite that long.” Sienna fiddled with the edge of the blanket before lifting her eyes to meet his. “My agent called.”
Craig’s stomach dropped, a hollowness taking over and threatening to consume him. “I gather he had some project you couldn’t turn down.”
She clasped her hands together tightly. “Actually, that’s exactly what happened.”
Pain centered in his chest, and Craig prepared for the worst. He was on the verge of making an eternal commitment, and she was about to leave him. He took a steadying breath. “I understand.”
“Actually, I’m not sure you do.” Sienna shifted her legs so she was sitting cross-legged and leaned her elbows on her knees. “The offer isn’t for a movie. It’s a television series.” Sienna kept her eyes on his, but she took a deep breath before she continued. “That means I’d be in the same place for nine to ten months out of the year.”
“Oh.” Craig didn’t think things could get worse. He was wrong. How could they possibly be together if she was gone most of the year? And what if his deployments occurred during her time off? They could literally go years without seeing each other.
“Are you okay?”
“Not really.” Craig pushed himself to a stand and took a few steps before turning to face her. “I thought we were going to have a few months together to figure out how far this thing between us can go. Now you’re telling me we’ve hit the end of the road.”
“No.” She stood and closed the distance between them. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“What are you saying? You can’t possibly think we can make this work if you’re gone most of the year, and it’s not like I have a choice in where I work. I go where I’m assigned.”
“Which is why I accepted the job.”
“Just like that?”
“I hoped you would want me to accept it.” She took his hand and held firm. “Craig, the job is here.”
“What? Here?”
“Yes. Right here in Virginia Beach. I hope you don’t mind if I stay.”
“Are you kidding?” He pulled her closer and leaned down to kiss her. “I love you. I want you to stay forever.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why don’t you tell me.” He released her to go collect the pie he had brought her. He lifted the to-go box and held it out to her. “See for yourself.”
Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. “What does eating a piece of pie have to do with my staying in Virginia?”
“Open it and see.”
She took it from him and opened the top. The piece of apple pie lay inside, but instead of ice cream on the side, an open ring box occupied the space next to the dessert, a diamond ring sparking from within.
Her eyes widened and then shot up to meet his. “Are you . . . ?” She tried to find her words. “Does this mean . . . ?”
“I’m asking you to marry me.” He lifted the ring from the box and lowered to one knee, his heart pounding. “Sienna Blake, will you marry me?”
Her hands lifted to her mouth briefly, tears glistening in her eyes. Then she nodded and grabbed his hands. “Yes.” The moment he stood, she threw her arms around his neck. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
The ring still in his hand, he lowered his lips to hers, the kiss holding more promise and emotion than he’d ever thought possible. When he pulled away, breathless, he smiled and reached for her hand. “You know your grandfather has been after me for a long time to get this ring on your finger.”
“Yes, I know.” She watched him slide the ring into place before she said, “And just think, you already know how my dad will react when you ask for his blessing.”
Craig pulled back enough to see the humor dancing in her eyes. “Not again.”
“Oh, yeah.” Sienna laughed. “But this time I’m going to be there to see the performance.”
“What if he thinks I’m role-playing again?”
“Don’t worry. He’ll believe it’s real as soon as we come out of the temple together.”
Craig let that image take root. “What are the chances we can talk Kendra and Charlie into having a one-year anniversary party? Maybe a nice, intimate family affair where we can celebrate their marriage at the DC Temple?”
Sienna’s smile bloomed. “I like the way you think.”
“That’s a good thing.” He lifted her hand and kissed it just below her sparkling ring. “Because you’re about to be stuck with me forever.”
“You know what we call that in the movies, don’t you?’
“What?”
“Happily ever after.” Sienna reached up and kissed him once more.
Craig’s heart lifted, and he let her words repeat in his mind. Happily ever after. Yeah, he could live with that.
A sample reading from
Freefall
My father is going to kill me, Amy Whitmore thought to herself. Of course that was assuming that the terrorists across the room didn’t decide to take care of the job for him. Amy looked up at the two men guarding the penthouse door, automatic weapons in hand. When one glanced at her, she averted her eyes, looking back to the two-toned beige carpet, and prayed that help would arrive soon.
Why hadn’t she listened? Her parents, her brothers—everyone had told her that travel in this part of the world was too risky right now. Of course that was part of the problem. They had told her. With an inward sigh, Amy wondered why she kept falling into the same trap. Ask her nicely to do something and she was bound to agree in a heartbeat. Tell her to do something and she would refuse twice as fast.
Still, when the job offer to work in the Diplomatic Corps had come her way, she had jumped at it. Politics had been part of her life for as long as she could remember, and working for the State Department finally gave her something that wasn’t directly in her father’s control.
Senator James Whitmore had been in politics since before Amy was born. The honorable senator from Virginia was well known for his honesty, his integrity, and his ability to get things done. He knew how to play the game, and he knew how often the rules changed. When he saw something he could do to make his country better, he moved forward with an intensity that was unequaled in the senate chamber.
When Amy had graduated from college, he had offered her a job working on his staff. She could admit now that she had been tempted and probably would have even accepted the job had it not been for Jared. Their brief engagement during her senior year of college had started on Christmas Eve and ended before the new year even began.
Amy had been excited about getting married, but as she prayed each night about her decision, she continued to feel uneasy. Three days after agreeing to marry Jared, she had walked into her kitchen to find her parents standing at the stove, her dad’s arms wrapped around her mom’s waist. The unity of their stance, the humor in their voices, and the love that flowed from them struck her, making her realize that she wanted what her parents had—which was something she couldn’t find with Jared.
Jared hadn’t really taken her seriously when she broke off their engagement. Instead he thought she just needed some time before she would be ready to settle down. Despite her insistence that they had no future together, Jared had simply chosen not to believe her. Not sure what else to do, Amy had let him believe whatever he wanted.
When she had turned down her dad’s job offer, she had told him that she needed to live outside of the shadow of the Whitmore name for a while. To some extent, she had been telling him the truth. She needed to find an identity separate from the rest of the family. After all, it wasn’t always easy being the senator’s daughter. Both of her older brothers cast pretty long shadows as well. Charlie, who was two years older tha
n she was, had just graduated from college at the top of his class, and Matt, the oldest, was playing his fourth season of major league baseball for the Florida Marlins.
At one point, Amy had planned to utilize her artistic abilities full time. After working a few summers with her dad, however, she’d decided to pursue a career in the political arena instead of developing her natural drawing ability. What she wouldn’t give for a chance to go back and rethink that decision!
Taking an overseas assignment a few weeks after her college graduation had seemed exciting and ambitious. Now it just seemed dangerous.
She had barely even heard of Abolstan, the little country tucked along the Mediterranean coast between Turkey and Syria. As soon as she’d accepted the assignment, she had read everything she could get her hands on about Abolstan, including its culture, climate, and politics. The research she had done in the weeks before her arrival had suggested that terrorist activity was inconsequential in the capital city. Obviously the person who had written that article had never stared down a man holding an AK-47.
A total of seven hostages were seated around the hotel room—five Americans and two Brits. This hotel typically housed the new arrivals for both the American and British embassies. Newly transferred employees often lived at the hotel for the first month or two until permanent apartments became available. Though the hotel was equipped with a high-end security system, it apparently wasn’t good enough to withstand last night’s assault, when a bomb of some sort had gone off. Seconds after the explosion, Amy and the others had been dragged out of their rooms and brought to the penthouse. Once inside the penthouse, the terrorists had separated them, making them sit far enough apart so that communication wasn’t possible. One of the men guarding the door spoke English well, and Amy guessed that he had been educated in the United States.
The two armed men in the room were the latest shift of those sent to guard the hostages. She studied their faces, thinking that they would look normal if it weren’t for the guns they held. She had counted at least fifteen terrorists when they had been abducted, and many of their faces were already etched into her mind. All she had to do was close her eyes and she could replay the moment her door had been kicked in.
She had originally mistaken the bomb for an earthquake and was standing in the doorway between the living area and the bedroom when her door simply fell into the room. Naively, she had thought that the two men staring at her from the hallway were part of the hotel’s security staff and had come to make sure that she was okay. Then she’d seen their weapons. Eyes wide, she had just gaped at them as one trained his weapon on her. When the other man swiftly came toward her, she instinctively backed up, but she quickly realized she had nowhere to go but through the door her abductors had come through. Terrified, she had dug her heels into the carpet as the man grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into the hallway.
Any lingering hope that someone would help her disappeared when she saw six other hostages being pulled from their rooms at the same time. She considered trying to fight her way free until she saw the man next to her do just that. He took the butt of a gun to the side of his head and crumpled to the floor in pain. Amy leaned toward him to help, but the two men holding her by the arms didn’t give her the opportunity. Instead, she could only watch in horror as several other hostages were brutalized for resisting. Below them, other hotel guests were screaming as they fled from the hotel.
Amy now thought the hostages had been individually targeted. Like her, all of them were new employees of their respective embassies, each of them in the process of securing a more permanent home in Abolstan. Amy was the newest arrival in the group, having landed just two weeks earlier. She had no doubt that the terrorists knew who they were and who they worked for. Specifically, they knew who her father was.
She shifted her willowy frame, leaning back against the wall. Her auburn hair was still in a ponytail from her workout on the treadmill in the hotel’s gym right before their unexpected guests had arrived. Thankfully, she was still dressed comfortably in the T-shirt and sweatpants she had worked out in.
She turned her head to the left and studied the other misfortunate souls who were sharing this misery. Each of the five men had been beaten when they had tried to resist, and she could tell that if they didn’t get help soon, some of them might not last through negotiations. Frank, her new supervisor at the embassy, adjusted the bandage on his leg where he had been shot. His injury provided an example of what would happen if they didn’t cooperate. For now, they had little choice.
As darkness fell outside, Amy closed her eyes against the tears that threatened. She bowed her head and once more began her silent prayers.
* * *
This isn’t going to be pretty, Brent Miller thought to himself as he continued through the dark shadows into the alley behind the hotel. The back of the building was charred black from the explosion nearly twenty-four hours earlier. The doors leading to the kitchen were gone, their remnants scattered on the pavement along with fragments of broken glass from the windows on the first three floors.
Brent took a moment to consider his target. The building was twelve stories high, but light was only visible from the windows on the top floor. He scanned the fire escape on the far side of the building and the wrought-iron balconies above him. He didn’t sense any movement on the first several floors, leading him to believe that he could simply enter the building and make his way upstairs.
But Brent had never been fond of obvious choices, and his training as a Navy SEAL reinforced his natural instincts. Ignoring the fire escape and the back doorway, he ran a hand over the brick and found his first handhold. Slowly, meticulously, he started his climb up the side of the building. Soot covered his fingertips as he silently stepped onto the first floor balcony and proceeded to make his way up to the next floor.
Through his headset, he heard Tristan Crowther’s western drawl. “Time frame?”
“Twenty minutes,” Brent answered, his voice low.
The elite five-man team was well-trained for situations like this. As a Navy SEAL, Brent knew where his teammates were and how dependent they all were on perfect timing as they worked through this operation. His job was simple enough: neutralize any terrorists with the hostages. As he approached from this side of the building, two of his teammates were moving into position from other locations to help attain their objective. All were anxious to complete this part of their assignment so they could move on to the difficult task of transporting the hostages to safety.
All of them knew what they were up against. Namir Dagan, a radical who had long been challenging for power in Abolstan, had claimed responsibility. His list of demands had been long, including the removal of all American forces from the region. Unfortunately, no one believed that he would ever release the hostages alive. Whether he got what he wanted or not, none of the hostages would survive negotiations unless Brent and his team successfully recovered them by force.
Brent edged his way past the seventh floor, sensing movement inside the dark room to the left. He worked his way farther up the building before speaking once more into the microphone. “Activity on seven, southwest corner.”
“Got it.” This time it was Quinn Lambert’s voice that came over the mike. “I’m showing eleven heat spots on the top floor. Looks like two are in the hallway.”
Brent nodded to himself, grateful that it wasn’t him sitting across the street staring at the building with infrared goggles. “Give me five more minutes and I’ll have a visual,” Brent told him, finally climbing onto the top floor balcony. He moved to the edge of the nearest window and peered inside to count the hostages who were sitting on the floor. From his angle he could see six of the seven—one woman and five men. Two terrorists flanked the door, weapons in hand.
“I’ve got two guns by the door, and I’ve got a visual on six of the hostages.” Brent relayed the information, recalling the files on the hostages. Two women had been identified as missing, one a thirty-si
x-year-old from London and the other a twenty-two-year-old from Virginia. The woman in his view was the older one, making the missing hostage Amy Whitmore, the senator’s daughter.
He’d known who she was even before he had seen her picture. After growing up in Virginia, it would have been tough not to remember the vibrant daughter of Senator Whitmore.
Sliding down onto the balcony, Brent crawled past several windows so that he could look at the room from the other direction. A sigh of relief escaped him when he saw the younger woman sitting on the floor across the room. He knew he was only a few of years older than she was, but he couldn’t help thinking how young and fragile she looked sitting there with her knees pulled up to her chest, her face pale.
A need to protect her surged through him as he studied her. She was beautiful, even in these less-than-perfect circumstances. In her photo, her gorgeous blue eyes had been alive with humor, combined with a smile that was full of fun. He hoped this experience wouldn’t erase that part of her—the fun-loving manner he suspected was an integral part of her personality.
He took a moment to gauge the situation. The hostages all had their backs to him, but he had enough of an angle to recognize each of them from the pictures he had been shown during their mid-flight briefing.
One of the men was badly bruised on one side of his face, and Brent could only guess that he had tried to resist capture. A quick scan indicated that he hadn’t been the only one. All five of the men appeared to need medical attention. The most visibly wounded was the man who had ripped off part of his shirt to bandage his leg. Unfortunately, the man next to him labored with each breath and appeared to be in shock.
Brent indicated to his teammates that he was in position, drew his weapon, and waited for the signal.
* * *
Amy felt the tension in the room increase as one of the gunmen spoke into his walkie-talkie in some language she couldn’t identify. He scanned the room and focused in on her. She saw the intent in his eyes even before he turned his weapon on her. I’m going to die, she thought to herself. Terrified, she pushed back against the wall, as if those few inches might make a difference.
Spotlight Page 23
