Boom crept to the north window and crouched beside Connor. A grenade appeared in his hand, almost like he’d conjured it from thin air. He pulled the pin and threw it out the window. A warning was shouted and dark figures scattered away from the path of the flying bomb. Boom and Connor used the opportunity to fire at the running targets, taking down three. Three more disappeared in the impact of the blast.
“Time to go,” Connor tapped Boom’s arm and motioned toward the southern door.
The two took turns shooting and running, covering each other until they made it outside. Then Boom launched another grenade and they ran toward the wall where Bilford, Vaughn and Winters waited.
Vaughn tended to Bilford, who sat with his back against the wall. Blood dripped from Vaughn’s gloves as he wrapped Bilford’s side, applying pressure.
“What can I do?” Connor asked, kneeling next to Bilford. Boom and Winters fired off shots to enforce the perimeter.
“He’s gonna be fine. Gonna make it.” Vaughn didn’t have to look at Connor when he spoke for Connor know the man was lying.
Bilford’s hand covered a cough and when he pulled it away, his fingers were red. Apparently Vaughn’s reassurances didn’t fool him either. “I’m dying and you know it, kid,” Bilford said. “Got me in the gut. We both know I’m not leaving this stinkin’ desert.” He struggled to remove his wedding ring.
“Let me help.” Connor grabbed Bilfords hand and twisted off the ring.
Bilford nodded in thanks. “Tell Mary-Beth I’ll be waitin’ for her.” He coughed again and blood sprayed his chest. “There’s a pocket watch in my trunk. Was m’ daddy’s. Make sure little Ricky gets it.”
“Of course.” Connor silently begged for more time. Rick Bilford was a good man. He was supposed to retire next year. He wanted to be home for little Ricky when the boy started high school. And now he wouldn’t even make it to his kid’s eighth grade graduation.
“Mi hermano,” Boom said, grasping Bilford’s hand. “Save a spot for me at the Father’s table.”
Bilford forced a smile. “Will do. Send me off with a bang, my friend.”
Boom’s lips spread into a wide smile as he felt for the remote in his pocket. As a precaution he’d laid C4 along the wall on the way in.
“Momma Bird, we’re out of the nest and we need air support.” Winters said into his radio. Then he followed it with, “Copy. Ready to move.”
Winters signaled and the team took off running. Seconds later the F-22 Raptor lowered. Popping sounds from the air meant that the jet’s M61 provided the cover they needed. Its twenty millimeter rounds tore up the ground behind the team as they sprinted away from the village, heading for the protection of the slope in front of them. They jumped over the ridge as Connor did a quick head count.
“Boom, Vaughn, Winters.” Only four of six left. “Light it up, Boom.”
“Father, guide their souls.” Boom crossed himself again and pressed the button.
* * *
Connor awoke with a crick in his neck from sleeping in an awkward sitting position. His fingers explored the scar on his chin, bringing the memory to life. Knuckling his eyelids, he tried to blot out the vision of the child he’d killed. Once again, age-old guilt wrapped around him, remind him that he should have recognized the deception. He should have paid more attention to what was happening outside. As the team’s commander, he had let them down. Two men had died and he would never forgive himself for their deaths. LeFord’s mom had screamed and cried out in anguish when Connor closed her hand around her son’s dog tags. Little Ricky had tried to be brave, but his eyes flooded with tears when he accepted his father’s pocket watch.
Connor had never fully understood their pain until he watched life ebb from Jacob’s eyes. Loss was the price of loving someone. Connor had accepted that fact and had vowed not to care deeply for anyone ever again.
Faint snoring sounds came from Ashley and Liberty, grating on his nerves. He watched them sleep, wondering what he’d gotten himself into. Ashley. She’d never forgive him, and never love him. Especially not like she loved Jacob. But it didn’t matter. Connor didn’t ask for a kid, and he was sick and tired of looking after someone who despised him. Screw it, Jake. If you care so much, you come take care of her.
Liberty looked so peaceful. He leaned forward to kiss her, and her voice echoed in his head. “I don’t want to like you.” The words she’d spoken earlier swirled around in his mind, reminding him that nothing would ever be easy with Liberty. If he kissed her, she’d probably punch him. He frowned at the woman who wanted nothing to do with him, deciding that kissing her would probably be like kissing frozen metal.
Liberty rolled to her side, turning her back to him even in her sleep.
And I don’t want to like you either.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“PUT YOUR LITTLE foot, put your little foot, put your little foot right out,” my grandfather sang as he led me through the slow waltz. “Take a little step, take a little step, take a little step right out.” He twirled me around and I giggled like the grandpa’s little girl I would always be.
The room around us—if it could be called a room—was white and void of all furniture or walls. The distance was cloudy, and all I could see was right in front of me: my grandfather. Lines creased his warm, loving face. Blue-grey eyes that always sparkled with amusement and mischief stared down at me.
Down at me? The last time I’d danced with my grandfather age had bent his back, making me almost a foot taller than him. But at this moment in time, I was frail and petite, standing in his shadow. My small hand felt insignificant surrounded by his grizzled old paw. I stared into the familiar eyes that seemed more than human.
“Grandpa, am I … dead?”
He stopped suddenly, and a loving smile spread across his face. “No, my little Liberty Bell, God has plans for your life.”
A tear slid down my cheek and I realized I had been hoping for a different answer. “But I’m so tired,” I complained.
He ignored the comment and led me into the next step. “La de dumpty dah dah, la de dumpty dah dah.”
I didn’t want him to leave; didn’t want to be alone. I held his hand tightly and prayed that the dance would last forever.
* * *
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was Ashley’s worried face. She was biting her bottom lip and staring out the window.
I’m not alone.
She jumped when I shifted and started to sit up. My head objected to the change in elevation and vengefully made me nauseous.
“You’re awake!” Ashley cheered.
I grimaced at her loud, high pitched voice, and grunted in response.
“What’s wrong? Can I get you something? Are you hungry? You weren’t out for very long. Do you want to go back to sleep?”
“Stop.” I held my hands up. “Please. Stop. I’m fine.” Just after effects of a minor mental breakdown.
She bit her lip and lowered her eyes at my harsh tone.
Softening my voice, I added, “But since you’re offering, I would like a half inch thick prime rib, a huge salad with blue cheese dressing, a chocolate cake, and a bottle of merlot.”
“Uh-huh.” She stared at me skeptically.
“Okay fine, you big cheapskate, I’ll settle for anything off the Taco Bell Menu. Well, anything but the quesadillas, I never did like those much.”
“You are so weird.” Relief replaced worry in her eyes. She jumped on the bed and wrapped me in a bear hug.
I tried not to throw up as her bouncing jostled my upset stomach and rattled my traumatized brain.
“You scared me,” she said. “You gonna be okay?”
I took a deep breath and squeezed her back. “Yeah, kiddo, I’m fine. Everything just seemed a bit overwhelming and I needed time to deal. Understand?”
Ashley nodded, scampered off the bed and disappeared. A few minutes later she returned with a glass of water and two aspirin.
“I’ve died, and
you’re my own personal angel, aren’t you?” I teased.
She smirked and handed me the medicine, which I accepted and washed down. Ashley took the glass and set it on the nightstand. With no other immediate ways to attend me, she hovered and fidgeted, being unintentionally annoying until I got out of bed.
Standing made me realize I was still wearing the catalyst for this morning’s attack of insanity. I went to the closet and pushed open the door, expecting to find broken glass everywhere. But the hardwood floor was clean. My hands were still wrapped in strips of Connor’s shirt. I untied the cotton bandages and admired the damage I’d done to my fists; a few red welts and a couple of small cuts, nothing that wouldn’t heal.
After exchanging my black nightmare for a casual knit dress that hugged my curves, I raked a brush through my tangled hair. Then I confronted the bathroom mirror. Thankfully, my own face looked back at me. I still looked a mess, but nothing like the train wreck I’d been earlier. My long, curly hair was frizzy, but not frighteningly so, and the red puffiness of my eyes had been greatly reduced by the much needed sleep.
When my head finally stopped pounding, Ashley and I went downstairs and found Connor in the garage. He had a cabinet door open and appeared to be going over the food inside. He looked up at our approach then froze when he met my eyes. I showed him my teeth and hoped I looked mentally stable and reassuring. Yes, I’m fine. This nut hasn’t completely cracked yet. Stepping out of his eye-lock and into the garage to investigate, I found bikes on the rack, a lawn mower to the left, a canoe hanging up, and …
“Holy cow, bikes!” I regretted the volume of my happiness when it caused my head to resume its rhythmic throbbing.
Connor nodded. “Yeah. We’re gonna bike the rest of the way.” He sounded different; distracted, cold.
Ashley looked terrified by the idea.
“What’s wrong Ash?”
“I haven’t ridden a bike in forever. I don’t know if I’ll remember how.” She eyed them dubiously.
“They say you never forget,” I reassured her. “Only one way to find out.”
Ashley and I pulled the bikes off the rack and inspected them. I adjusted her seat and she wheeled it around the small, unoccupied space of the garage. The verdict was that she’d manage.
I was tempted to grab the man’s bike and leave the woman’s to Connor, but since he’d been surprisingly supportive during my crazy-time, I played nice and adjusted the woman’s bike seat for my long legs. Connor fiddled with the man’s bike. Then we stood there in uncomfortable silence, not quite looking at each other. Connor and I excelled at yelling and screaming, but civil communication had proven to be beyond our abilities. The fact that he’d seen me at my weakest left me feeling exposed and vulnerable.
Will he think I’m a liability now? No, that’s crazy. He held me and helped me.
He stood up the bike on its kickstand and opened the grill. I tried to peek inside, but he shut the cover and thwarted my efforts.
Leaning my bike against the wall, I feinted to the right then stepped to the left; trying to reach around him and open the grill, but he grabbed my wrist.
“Dammit, Liberty. Why can’t you leave anything alone?” He released my wrist and turned his back to me, studying the closed grill.
What the—? I raised an eyebrow at Ashley. She shrugged and walked toward the door that led back to the kitchen. I followed, glancing back at Connor who seemed intent on ignoring us both.
“What’s with him?” I asked, shutting the door behind me.
She shrugged. “How should I know? You’re both crazy.” She smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t mean crazy, crazy. I mean—”
“No, I get it. And you’re right.” I held my hand level with my chin, as if measuring. “You must be at least this crazy before you ride the rollercoaster of adulthood.”
Ashley giggled then we hunted through kitchen drawers and cupboards until we found linen placemats, napkins, and matching dinner plates. We set the table, then filched two small candles from a decorative display on the wall. Since the heavy winter curtains fully covered the windows, we felt safe enough to light the scented wax and add ambiance to our elegant table setting.
Connor opened the door and the palatable aroma of spaghetti encompassed him. His eyes lingered on the table. Ashley and I held our breath, presuming he would object to the candles, which would in turn lead to a long, exhausting argument. Instead, he shook his head, moved toward the table, and set the pot of spaghetti on the hot-pad we’d placed for it.
Ashley and I cast confused glances at each other as we sat down.
The meal by candlelight seemed surreal. Like the dream of my grandfather, only the area around us was visible. We sat at a mahogany table with matching chairs. A chandelier hung just above the center of the table, refracting light into hundreds of shapes and colors. The table was centered on a Tuscan rug that rested over the hardwood floor. It was all so beautiful—so perfect. Everything felt so … normal.
The candlelight emphasized certain details about Connor that I unsuccessfully tried to ignore. Like the extraordinary length of his eyelashes, his perfectly shaped, masculine lips, and the way shadows danced across his strong jaw bone when he spoke; undeniably handsome.
And dangerous. Don’t forget dangerous. And glaring at me! What’s his problem?
After we washed up the dinner dishes, Ashley grabbed a pot of rainwater and scampered upstairs, deserting me during our silent war with Connor. I pushed the chairs in around the table and he put away the place settings. He swept and I wiped down the counters and table. He searched through the cupboards and I tried to refrain from pulling my hair out and strangling him with it. Finally, when I couldn’t take it anymore, I put my hands on my hips and turned to face him.
“What the heck is your problem?”
He chuckled and turned to stare at me. “I don’t have a problem.”
I glared back. “You know what? Forget it. Fine. No, not fine. Just when I think you could possibly be a decent human being, you always have to prove me wrong.”
“Oh that’s rich.” He leaned against the wall. “You’re the one who doesn’t want to like me, remember?”
I blinked. What the—?
“Remember? I was trying to assist you, and as usual you made sure to tell me how much you didn’t need my help. Would it kill you to be a little appreciative?” He slammed the door to the cupboard he was searching through.
“Connor.” I dropped the rag I held into the sink. “I meant that I was starting to like you, and I didn’t want to.” My eyes narrowed further. “Of course I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t want to like you. You’re so incredibly charming.” I marched toward the stairs but he grabbed my arm, spinning me around to face him.
His warm hand sent bolts of electricity up my arm, reminding me of how good it had felt to be nestled in his embrace. No. Must be strong.
We stood; our mulish expressions just inches from each other as the seconds ticked by. Neither of us could summon the courage or strength to apologize. Instead, I found myself pressed against the counter with his lips covering mine. Man, the boy could kiss. I let myself revel for just a few seconds before my common sense returned. Breaking the kiss, I gritted my teeth, yanked my arm away from his grasp and escaped up the stairs.
“That’s okay. I don’t like you either!” he yelled.
“Yeah, that’s real mature!” I shouted, slamming the bedroom door behind me and taking refuge with my back against the cool wood. I laid my fingers over my very well-kissed lips and closed my eyes. I had no intention of admitting the affect that kiss had on me. To him, or to myself.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CONNOR CLENCHED HIS fists and counted to ten, as the most infuriating female he’d ever had the misfortune of knowing stormed up the stairs. Five hours ago, the complex web of Liberty unraveled in his arms. He’d seen a glimpse of the soft, scared woman who hid behind the stand-offish ice queen, and for just a moment she’d allowed him to comfort her. The
kiss had perhaps been unwise, but he was drawn to this woman, whether he wanted to be or not, and he’d been unable to stop himself.
“Stupid!” He berated himself aloud, then punched the wall. The broken plaster and bloodied knuckles did nothing to soothe his temper, so he shoved on tennis shoes and opened the door. A run would clear his head and save helpless walls from his wrath. Heavy rain bounced off the soaked ground. Since real Washingtonians never let a little drizzle slow them down, he reached for a hooded jacket and headed out the front door.
After a good stretch, he started off fast, determined to run until rain and exhaustion battered his attitude into submission and drained his temper. Methodically, he kept putting one foot in front of the other, hoping the familiar motions would persuade his mental state to return to normal. When that didn’t work, he shook his head, trying to rattle loose whatever blocked his brain. She always pushes me away.
Listening to his footfalls splashing through the water, he banished the sound of her voice from his head. Nothing I say is right. Concentrating on the cleansing fragrance of rain, he pushed aside the memory of her scent. What does she expect from me? It’s not like she’s perfect. His pace increased as he tried not to dwell on the way her strength and determination encouraged his own. Everything is a challenge with that woman! Focusing on his breathing, he struggled to understand exactly what he felt for her. How can one person complicate life so much?
Connor sprinted until his anger and feet both lost steam and sputtered out right before the ninth hole. It was a par-four with a tricky water hazard, Connor reminisced about past golf games with people he’d probably never see again and wished he had his clubs. Though he was no master of the sport, he’d learned early on that there was power in bringing a good game. And, to Connor, everything had become a game. He’d played his way to a senior partner position at a prosperous law firm, a nice house, two luxury cars, plenty of money in the bank, an investment portfolio and comfort. He wanted for nothing; possessed everything. Anything he required was within his grasp. He could see himself living in one of these custom designed houses in his own selected homeowner’s association approved color. He’d have a girl on each arm, while he lounged on the couch, watching the Seahawks head for the Super Bowl.
Rescuing Liberty: Perseverance Book 1 Page 10
