Cavanaugh's Secret Delivery

by Marie Ferrarella

  Feeling jacked up and restless, as if he could run ten miles, he saw that she was free for a dance. She would be expected to dance with each of them, so this was obligatory.

  “Mrs. Webb, may I have this dance?”

  She turned to him and stared at him for a moment, as if he was a land mine about ready to blow, then she dropped her thick lashes over those twist-a-man-up-inside eyes and nodded. The waltz was pretty and it felt so right when she slipped her palm against his.

  “Good evening, Sergeant. Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “I am, ma’am. Very much. You pulled out all the stops and did a fine job.”

  She flushed at his praise. She remembered her tug of war with Robert’s assistant. She oversaw all the planning duties, even though the woman had tried to take over for her at Robert’s orders. That had been another battle with him, but this one she had won by sheer stubbornness. “Well, this is all for you. Tonight, around the world, you are all in harm’s way, on board ships at sea, at our diplomatic missions, marines are on duty.” Her voice got low and fierce. “The amazing men and women of our armed forces serving and protecting right alongside them. You all risk your lives to protect us and our freedoms, many times under circumstances unimaginably difficult and dangerous. So, God bless you all.”

  “Thank you,” he said, dancing her closer to the doors that led outside to the balmy night until finally they were on the patio under the moonlight and the sounds of the party receded.

  They parted and she moved away from him, breathing deeply of the air. “It always smells so good here,” she said.

  He came up behind her; the deep, dark, secluded area made it seem as if they were the only people in the world.

  “It does smell good,” he murmured, his fingers itching to reach out and capture one of those cascading curls, to feel the heat of her hair, the smooth skin of her back. But he breathed deep of her instead, a floral aroma mixed with her unique woman-scent that made him weak—seriously messed with his badass quotient.

  She turned toward him. “Have you enjoyed your billet here, Sergeant?”

  “Immensely,” he said, caressing her delicate features with his eyes in the moonlight, knowing he was crossing over that invisible boundary against his will—or was he doing it deliberately?

  “The people have been very accommodating and so welcoming—warm and accepting. I find that it’s been my most favorite post, as well.”

  “Yes,” he nodded, stepping closer to her as her body seemed to soften and sway toward him. “The people are fantastic.”

  She reached up and drew her finger across his ribbons just below the gold eagle pin. “So many. You must have been in the service for a while.”

  “Just four years, since I was eighteen,” he said, capturing her hand and drawing her closer. She didn’t resist and his chest felt full, his groin throbbing. Her lips parted, her mouth looking much too tempting to resist.

  With a small gasp that only made his balls tighten, she said, “You’re only twenty-two?”

  “In man years,” he responded, shifting. “But in marine years, I’m like forty-five.” Grinning the grin that had got him into more trouble than he cared to think about, he fixed his gaze on her. He’d been having sex since he was sixteen and was quite aware of the opposite sex. Surfer boys got more than their share of female appreciation. But Austin had stayed faithful to Melanie, the girl waiting for him back home. Except there seemed to be a gray fog over that memory of her, as if he couldn’t recall her face.

  She smiled and his heart flip-flopped, a true, amused smile that did things to his well-organized, completely rational brain. The expression in her eyes glinted, then softened, becoming a little warmer, a little more intimate—the look you gave someone you’d known a long, long time. As if they were old souls.

  “Jenna,” he whispered raggedly, dragging his fingers through her curls.

  Someone dropped a lid off one of the dishes and it reverberated with a metallic sound. She froze, and the dreamy, lost look in her eyes snapped off. “Oh, God,” she murmured and pushed away from him. “What am I doing?” She shook her head and before he could stop her, she rushed past him and back into the bright lights of the party.

  He watched her get control of herself, march briskly to her husband, and they walked onto the dance floor. She couldn’t have put up a larger or more formidable wall. He wanted to know how she really felt, but he was being a complete fool. She was married to the United States ambassador. She wasn’t free and neither was he.

  This could torpedo his career in a freaking heartbeat. He had to get control of himself.

  The faster he realized that, the better off he would be.

  * * *

  The next day, Jenna was summoned to the embassy and told to pack a bag. She was hoping to catch Austin, talk to him, make it clear that she was married and that she couldn’t engage in any kind of an affair with him. She was just...a woman who was desperately trying to handle disappointment.

  But, as she came through the gates, there were several pockets of people—angry people. They banged on the car windows when the vehicle slowed to enter. As the gates closed behind her, she noticed that the Khida security force responsible for guarding the grounds were flanking the gates fully armed, the looks on their faces tense and watchful.

  Once inside, she forgot about talking to Austin as another marine buzzed her in. The uniform triggered thoughts of Austin, anyway, and a flash of memory chased her up the staircase and into the suite of offices as she was immediately allowed entrance to her husband’s.

  “Robert. What is going on?”

  He looked up from his phone call and murmured something, then hung up. He smiled, but it was the tight one that told her he was going to treat her like a child.

  “There is no need to worry, my dear.”

  “There’s a growing number of very angry people outside. I think there’s a need to worry,” she snapped.

  His eyes flashed. It was the first time she’d ever raised her voice to him, and God, it felt good.

  “Very well. We are monitoring the situation and the residence isn’t safe. You’ll stay here until this blows over.”

  “What happened?”

  “There was an incident in New York. Several Ja’arbah citizens, who are attending the university, were victims of a hate crime. One of them was killed after being set on fire and the other two are in critical condition.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  He came around the desk and clasped her upper arms, smiling that tight smile again. “They’re angry and want justice.”

  “Have they caught the people responsible for the deaths?”

  “The suspects in the case are at large and the NYPD is doing everything they can to apprehend them.” He gave her a calming look, but Jenna felt cold and unsettled. She moved away from him, folding her arms across her chest and rubbing at them. “They’re protesting. We’ll let them get it out of their system.”

  “Are you sure that’s all they’re going to do? There are militants everywhere, Robert. Even here.”

  He looked at her like she had grown two heads. As if he couldn’t fathom where she might have heard the word militants.

  She huffed a breath. “Robert.”

  “For now. Yes. If things change. We’ll deal with it.”

  He went to his intercom. “Janet, please send up Sergeant Beck.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Oh, no, not Austin. “Why are you sending up a marine?”

  “You need a guard.”

  “Guard? You mean babysit me. I’m not a child, Robert.”

  “I know that, and this is a precaution.”

  “He’s needed elsewhere,” she said firmly.

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but if this is about our discussion regarding children, your petulance can stop right now. I am th
e authority here, Jenna, and I will do what I see fit for my wife. Is that understood?” He never let her forget he was in a prestigious position, symbolizing the sovereignty of the United States and serving as the personal representative of the President.

  She couldn’t protest any louder because he might wonder why. She bit her tongue and looked away. “Understood.”

  “Good. Put this on and keep it on until you’re safe.” He handed her a bulletproof vest.

  No, she thought as memories of Austin’s mouth and how much she’d wanted to kiss him shocked through her, this wasn’t good at all. She took the vest, her stomach tight.

  * * *

  Two days later, Jenna stood staring out of the embassy window, watching as dusk settled, tension in the air, like it was waiting, breath suspended for...violence. That feeling shivered across her skin, settled like a sick rock in her stomach and sent fear skittering along her nerve endings. Robert had been wrong and the numbers of people only swelled. Angrier people, some carrying weapons, now surrounded the embassy on all sides. The police had tried to disperse them with tear gas. They just surged back once it had cleared. The sound of breaking glass audible above the constant, bone-chilling chant. Suddenly someone grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the view.

  “I’d prefer you stay away from the windows, ma’am,” Austin said, his voice still professional and neutral. No inflection. She cringed. She hadn’t said a word to him about what had happened. He had been the perfect gentleman. Both of them must have wised up. Or had she? She still couldn’t get him off her mind and if he called her “ma’am” one more time... Today he was in tan camouflage instead of his more formal dress, a battle helmet on his head, in constant contact with the other marines in the compound and Post One.

  She huffed and settled on the cushions of the leather couch in the office where she had been sleeping.

  He glanced at her, his posture loose as he leaned against the wall. “What is it? You’re staring daggers at me.”

  “Please don’t call me that again.”

  He stared at her, and she breathed a sigh of relief. That blank look was gone, replaced by a pensive one. “Call you what?”

  “Ma’am.”

  He looked down. “It’s necessary.”

  “Jenna, please. Call me Jenna.” He just stared at her. “As opposed to ‘ma’am.’ It makes me feel eighty.” But it mostly made her feel alone.

  She felt strangely calm inside, as if she’d emptied everything out and now there was nothing left. It was almost a nice feeling, that kind of hollowness. Maybe, she thought with a touch of black humor, she had to honor Robert’s wishes about children. But she didn’t have to like it, and she could no longer contain her resentment. She sighed and rubbed her arms. She had been dodging reality long enough.

  He smiled then, and she had to remember to take a breath. Austin in marine mode was lethal, but when he smiled...everything melted. She knew it was inappropriate.

  “All right. It’s not protocol. I should really call you Mrs. Webb...” She narrowed her eyes and he laughed again. “All right, okay. Jenna it is, but I think you should still address me as Sergeant Beck. That’s as far as I can stretch my strict protocol.”

  This time she smiled. He really was working at keeping his distance. Wasn’t that a good thing? “If you insist.” It would be a good thing if protocol wasn’t already on the rocks.

  “I do.” He indicated the window with a nod of his head. “Let’s just keep our heads down and out of any line of fire.” She must have blanched because he looked contrite and swore softly under his breath. “Sorry. It’s safer. All right?”

  “Yes.”

  The buzz of the chanting closed in on her, and she turned toward the window just able to see over the sill. It was a beautiful night, with the twilight soft, purple, and oddly welcoming. This...fearful restlessness was building in her. It was as if her brain was telling her to flee, but she knew she had nowhere to go right now.

  “What if they breach the walls? Come after us?”

  “We have safe haven in the event of the worst-case scenario. But your husband decided this morning that we should all be evacuated until things die down. He didn’t tell you this?” Safe haven was a fortified room where they could lock themselves in, but how long could they survive? What if they set the building on fire?

  “No.” She sighed. He would of course want to spare her the worry. “I’m sure he’s very busy handling this crisis.”

  “The choppers will be here in time. I promise you. Nothing will happen to you. I’ll keep you safe.”

  She stared out at the milling crowd, its cadence never wavering, arms pumping over their heads. She wished she was home. Home in DC, where it was safe. She absently tucked her hair behind her ear, trying to keep the fear at bay.

  “Talk to me about something, anything.”

  His eyes softened a bit. “I’m a surfer. I ride the waves as often as I can.”

  “A surfer? How long have you been doing that?”

  “Since before I could walk. My parents were avid surfers and got me on a board when I was a baby.”

  She raised a brow. “Really? Just a baby?”

  He chuckled and leaned back against the wall, eyeing the door, his M4 pointing to the ceiling, the butt end resting against the carpet. On his hip, he carried an M9 pistol. He stood between a locked door and whatever wanted to come through it. They were in one of the second-floor offices, the stairs barricaded with office furniture. They would be exiting out a side office and heading to safe haven or on their way up to the roof as soon as it became necessary.

  “Yeah. I was born in San Clemente, California, and they’ve got one of the best beaches there to surf. Trestles. Well, there are three distinct spots—Uppers, Middle, and Lowers. Lowers used to be part of Camp Pendleton until President Nixon decreed it park land. Little did I know I’d be one of the marines who served.”

  “That seems...so...strange, personality-wise.”

  He shifted again and gave her a sidelong glance. “Why do you say that?”

  “Surfers are known for their laid-back, get-in-touch-with-nature attitudes. ‘Go with the flow, dude.’ Marines, well, they usually are going against the flow with a very determined attitude, ‘hooyah.’ Uniforms and boots versus flip-flops and board shorts.”

  His smile returned then, those full lips parting for a flashing curve of white teeth and wry self-awareness, sexy-tough handling both her and the weapons he carried with masterful ease. “Ah, that was a nice try, but it’s actually ‘oohrah’ for us jarheads.” He leaned forward, his weapon tilting with him, this lethal man with a glint in the gunmetal gray of his eyes. “You can’t see me out of this uniform?”

  She had to swallow at the mention of anything bare on Austin and with that one sentence all the sensations and her reaction to his mouth came rushing back.

  His face changed, and he grimaced as if he’d just realized what he’d said. “Not that you’d imagine me without my uniform...” He glanced away, then looked back at her, capturing her gaze, a soft flush of color washing his cheeks. Shaking his head, he gave her an exasperated look as if he was, all of a sudden, tongue-tied. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back. “I meant, in board shorts and flip flops,” he said, tipping his head back and closing his eyes.

  “I know what you meant.” He was the most fascinating mix of toughness and grace she’d ever seen, six feet and two inches of raw, lean power, soft-looking short brown hair mixed with blond highlights. His eyes were the purest, clearest crystalline gray she’d ever seen, the color of river water with sunlight shooting through it.

  He was a very beautiful young man, but he carried himself and acted much older than he looked. When she’d found out he was all of twenty-two, she’d been floored. That for some reason made her feel much older than twenty-six. She felt weary, unhappy, and that was probably the reason f
or having these very wrong thoughts and feelings for Austin. The risk, too. That was jacking everything up to a danger-zone level.

  He was gorgeous, with his beautiful nose and chiseled cheekbones, and those lips, which she couldn’t help fantasizing about. Just looking at him made her mouth go dry. The essence of him had the kind of presence that made a woman feel safe, a quiet strength embedded with a sure confidence that was take-charge and steady, but with a demeanor that was warm and true.

  For the first time in her life, she had cast her eyes in another man’s direction, and she was at a loss in knowing how to make it go away—these inappropriate thoughts or the recklessness of wanting to give in to those desires. Dangerous and wrong. She bit her lip, resenting her father and how hard he’d pushed. She’d been the dutiful daughter and acquiesced to his wishes like she always had. She regretted it now.

  She was married to a man who treated her like a glass figurine, had no intention of ever giving her children and didn’t think she could handle anything more taxing than a garden party or shopping.

  Austin was talking about surfing, and she’d let the cadence of his deep voice wash over her and dissipate the spiraling fear. Then he dropped the big bomb. “My girlfriend likes to ride, too, which is a plus.” That made her gasp. She had to cover it up with a cough.

  “You’ve got a girlfriend?” Acute disappointment rippled through her. What had she thought anyway? She was the wife of a US ambassador and he was a young marine. There was no hope for them and yet the discontent was keenly severe.

  “Yeah—” He pulled off his helmet and leaned over to show her the inside. The picture showed a pretty blonde woman on a beach, her long hair flying around her face, caught in the wind.

  “She’s very pretty,” was all Jenna could muster, her heart heavy.

  He smiled and set the helmet back on.