Wounded Heroes Boxed Set

by Judith Arnold

  "I want you," she breathed, scarcely able to hear herself. "Paul...please."

  He sat up. He was breathing heavily, apparently as stunned as she was by the speed and power of her response. Through a blur of ecstasy she saw the doubt in his eyes, the anxiety tearing at him. She recognized his fear, understood and respected it. But there was only one way to overcome it, one way to prove to him that he was not fated to hurt her.

  "I trust you," she swore, her voice hushed but firm.

  He hesitated a second longer. Then, his gaze fixed on her face, he worked open his belt and trousers and slid them off. She noticed the fierce pumping of his chest as he labored with his breath, the lithe muscles of his arms and legs, the slim contours of his hips, his full arousal. Her hands followed the path her eyes had blazed, touching him, learning him.

  He remained still beneath her questing fingers, every so often closing his eyes to center his attention on her light caresses. When she curled her hands around his hardness he emitted a faint gasp, then broke from her and rolled away. He rummaged in the drawer of his night table; when he returned he was holding a contraceptive shield. That he remembered, that he cared, that even at such an intense moment he would protect her...

  I trust you, she half-whispered, half-moaned. I trust you... and she opened her soul to him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  * * *

  "I’M GLAD I survived," he murmured, nestling his head into the warm hollow at the base of her throat. He dropped a kiss on the delicate ridge of her collarbone; his breath feathered across her skin. "Oh, Bonnie... I’m so glad."

  Bonnie knew how much that statement meant coming from Paul. He said it as if it were a divine revelation, a final acknowledgement that, whatever terrifying things he had survived, his survival was ultimately more meaningful than his terror.

  "I’m glad, too," she said, recognizing at once how absurd an understatement that was. Her body still throbbed in the afterglow of his lovemaking. When he shifted his leg, which was sandwiched between hers, she was gripped by an echoing spasm of pleasure. When he gently shaped one hand to her breast she experienced another, and another when he touched his lips to her collarbone again.

  "You make me feel so alive," he went on. His voice was uneven, the words emerging haltingly, but Bonnie understood that he needed to say these things. She curled her fingers through the dense black waves of hair crowning his head, waiting, listening. "The last time, too—even then I felt so incredibly alive..."

  "We don’t have to talk about that time," she stopped him. Sex had been so different between them then. She wanted to remember only this sweet union, this bond forged in love and trust. She wanted to remember his masterly control, his sensitivity, the slow, lush completion of each thrust, the way his face had glowed with pleasure when she climaxed around him, and when he’d joined her at that splendid peak.

  "We do have to talk about it," Paul disputed her, easing out of her arms and propping himself up so he could gaze down at her. "That’s still a part of who I am, Bonnie. I can’t make any promises—"

  "Then don’t make any," she whispered, weaving her fingers through his and giving him a reassuring squeeze. "Except to be honest with me. That’s the only promise I need."

  He continued to scrutinize her, a shadow passing across his face. "This—what we just did—it wasn’t some kind of revenge, was it?"

  "Revenge?" She frowned. "What are you talking about?"

  He sighed, steering his gaze to her slender, blissfully ravished body sprawled across his bed. "You found out your husband had an affair, so now, to get even with him—"

  "No!" She tugged on his hand, drawing his attention back to her. "I wanted this to happen well before I knew about Gary. I’ve loved you for a long time, Paul."

  He examined her face as he mulled over her words. Slowly, the doubt melted from his expression and his lips shaped a vague smile. "All men make mistakes, Bonnie. Gary wasn’t perfect, and I’m sure as hell not perfect, either."

  "Who is?"

  "I just..." He paused, his eyes searching hers, full of questions, full of hope. "I just want to know you forgive him."

  "Forgive him?" Paul had spoken disparagingly of Gary so many times—why was he defending him now?

  "I’ll never cheat on you, Bonnie, never. But I’ll screw up sometimes." He drew his fingers tenderly through her hair, measuring her reaction to his words. "I need to know that when I do you’ll be able to forgive me. If you can forgive him...then I’ll know you can forgive me."

  She peered up into Paul’s piercing eyes. Once again she was astounded by his willingness to let her see his vulnerability. It took enormous courage to reveal one’s uncertainties, one’s fears and flaws. Obviously, Gary hadn’t been courageous enough.

  "I forgive him," she confessed, feeling an overwhelming rush of liberation the moment the words left her. What had happened in the past was done. It was a part of who she was, just as Paul’s history was a part of him—but now it was time to look forward, to move on. If Paul could forgive himself for surviving, she could forgive her husband for not having been the idealized hero she’d thought him to be.

  Forgiveness, she realized, was as precious as honesty.

  "I love you," she said, urging Paul back to her. She nuzzled his chin, then cushioned her head against his shoulder and sighed contentedly. She loved him not only for his strength and candor but for the lesson he’d just taught her.

  He skimmed his hand down her spine and up again in a tranquilizing pattern. "Even though I served in the war?" he tested her.

  "I’ll never believe that war was a good thing," she countered. "If it happened today I’d be right at the front lines, marching against it. But I still love you, Paul. I can accept your military service. I can even accept your memorial."

  "I’m not going to build it," he announced.

  She drew back, shocked. "Why not?"

  He slid his hand up to the nape of her neck and held her head steady, close to his. "I don’t want to remember my friends with a stupid heap of granite. Isn’t that what you called it?"

  She grinned, abashed. "I think I called it silly."

  "Stupid, silly, it doesn’t matter." He ran his thumb behind her ear, as if unable to stop touching her, caressing her, loving her. "Granite is dead. I want to remember them with something alive."

  "Books for the library?" Bonnie asked hopefully.

  He shrugged. "Maybe some books, too. I was thinking of a tree."

  "A tree!"

  "On the green. I know there are already a few trees there, but—a white birch like the one Shane gave you... I was thinking, I could put a plaque at the base saying it was planted in memory of those who died in ‘Nam. And then it would grow. It would be alive for them." He paused, then smiled sheepishly. "What do you think? Too corny?"

  "I think it’s wonderful," she whispered, gathering him to herself. "I think you’re wonderful." Her mouth took his, and her body, telling him without words how much she loved him.

  ***

  THE CHOPPER WAS waiting, the rotors churning the air. Paul had been counting the weeks, the days, the seconds for this moment to arrive. Now that it had, he hesitated.

  Behind him the camp buzzed with its usual activity. His captain had already saluted him and wished him well, and a couple of grunts were loitering nearby, shouting words—mostly obscene—of farewell. "Get some for me, Tremaine!" one of them hollered. "Get as much as you can! Make up for lost time!"

  Lost time. That was how he would think of these last eighteen months: time lost but real, always with him, leaving permanent scars. He was about to climb aboard the chopper, about to return to the world—yet he sensed in his gut that he would never leave this place, never.

  His heart told him something else. It told him he would leave ‘Nam, even though ‘Nam would never leave him. He would carry it with him wherever he went—but the key was, he would go. He would continue. He was alive and maybe, someday, he would start living again.

 
; The war was a part of his past. The chopper would carry him to his future. He prayed that in time the past would fade and he would heal, that somewhere in that future something good would be waiting for him.

  He allowed himself one final look back, then marched toward the chopper and climbed on.

  -The End-

  Learn about more of Judith Arnold’s books, including her wildly popular Daddy School series, at her website bookstore. You can subscribe to her newsletter on the home page of her web site.

  WAITING FOR YOU

  * * *

  By Kathryn Shay

  Copyright 2012 by Kathryn Shay

  Chapter 1

  * * *

  "GUNMAN AT EAST High School. All available RPD units required at the scene." The urgent call came over the police radio, causing Sergeant Joe Moretti and his partner Shelly to exit the expressway in their unmarked car and race to the school. Although the two of them were alert and ready for anything, they remained calm. But Joe bet the two less experienced cops following in a black-and-white were shaking in their boots. School-violence incidents were taken seriously, and though regular classes wouldn’t start until the fall, a special summer session was held this year. Nobody expected something like this on a lazy August afternoon.

  "So I guess this means we aren’t gonna talk anymore about the elusive dancer." Shelly Banks made the quip as she worked on the laptop. Tall, slender but muscular, she was dressed in a suit, like he was, the jacket removed to reveal a Kevlar vest. Irreverence was her trademark, and Joe’s love life, or lack of it, was a favorite target of hers. They were on their way back to the precinct after lunch and had been discussing his ill-fated online relationship with a woman named Dana when the call came in.

  "Give it a rest, Banks." He nodded to the computer. The SWAT team communicated with her via the machine. "What’s the update?"

  "SWAT arrived on the scene. They spoke with the principal. Boy’s seventeen, a loner, of course, a good student." She frowned at the screen. "Jesus, really good."

  Taking a turn a little too fast, Joe eased off the gas. "Successful-student syndrome. Too much pressure. Just snaps." Payback time for his pal. "Like you, Banks. Straight freaking A's, right?"

  "Yep." Quiet while she fiddled with the keys, she finally said, "Got a blueprint of the building up. Want to see it?"

  "No, we’ve been there before. And it’s my alma mater."

  Joe had graduated from East High School twenty-plus years ago and many of his teachers still taught there. They’d been impressed by his position with the police department since he’d been a C student, concentrating on sports instead of academics. He liked their new image of him. Being a good cop, like his dad, was central to his life.

  "Oh, yeah, I forgot. You were a big football star."

  Back then, Joe had outshone every guy on the Spartan field, gotten a full scholarship to college, but had blown out his knee in his second season for Syracuse University.

  "Seems like a lifetime ago. We’ll play it by ear to see who talks to the kid."

  "Gotcha."

  The school loomed ahead with its brick façade, two stories and walls of windows. Joe hoped to hell the sharpshooters didn’t have to use any of those windows today. He’d been on a couple of cases where the perpetrator had been taken out with a bullet through the glass, and the result was a horror show. For one so young, the scene would be even worse.

  "Damn," Shelly said staring at the screen. "The kid wants to see a teacher. Ms. Falk. That complicates the situation."

  "Get the principal on the phone. No way is a civilian to go near the lab without us there directing this maneuver."

  Using her cell, Shelly relayed the message to Jack Sherwood. She finished talking to him just as they came to a halt at the double front doors. They bounded out of the car and hurried to the entrance. A sweeping glance of the outside told Joe SWAT was in place on the roof of the building and the backup officers were behind them. Everybody would wait for his assessment.

  Once inside, he felt a sharp spike of adrenaline as they raced up the steps. Instinct kicked in with the jolt of energy, and Joe went into full-cop mode. When they exited the stairway, he caught sight of people near a science lab where a boy named Holden Rupert held a class full of kids and one teacher hostage with a sawed-off shotgun. The building had been put on immediate lockdown, though there were only about a hundred students taking classes. Quietly, quickly, they approached the group.

  Sherwood let out a heavy sigh when he saw them. "Glad it’s you, Joe." He angled his head to the room. "This is totally unexpected."

  "We’ll take over now, sir. I need an update from your point of view."

  After Sherwood confirmed what they already knew, the head SWAT guy approached Joe. "We’re ready on your signal, Sergeant Moretti."

  "Let’s hope the situation doesn’t come to that, Johnson." He pointed to the cell phone the principal held. "You keeping the kid on the line?"

  "No, he hung up after he told us to call back when Ms. Falk got here."

  Hell of a thing. "Any idea why he wants to see her?"

  "The students like her," the principal explained. "They say she understands them. Maybe that’s it."

  "Maybe." And maybe not. After years on the force, Joe knew to assume nothing.

  With relief evident in his face, Sherwood handed Joe the phone. Shelly led the school contingent a short distance away and Joe pressed redial.

  On the other end, the boy answered, "Ms. Falk?"

  "Hello, Holden. This is Sergeant Moretti. I’m a Special Unit officer."

  "I said no cops." The boy’s voice was trembling, nervous. Not a good sign.

  "I know you did, but the school had no choice. I have the training to deal with the situation you’ve created. Can I come in and see you?"

  "No. And I’ll shoot one of the other kids unless I get to talk to Ms. Falk."

  Covering the mouthpiece, Joe motioned Shelly over. "Get the teacher. Tell her she’s not going into the lab, but to come down here right away."

  Back on the line, he made sure he remained calm. "Somebody’s getting Ms. Falk. What happened, Holden? Why you doing this?"

  "I’m not talking to you."

  "I went to school here, you know."

  "Yeah, sure."

  "I did. I loved the place. Why do you hate it?"

  "I don’t hate it! I’m mad, is all."

  "About what?"

  "I want Ms. Falk!" His voice raised a notch.

  "Hold on a second." Joe put the phone on mute.

  From down the hall, a young teacher walked toward him. Hell, she looked about seventeen herself, with a sleek haircut and trendy clothes. He remembered the utter agony of being sixteen and having a hottie for a teacher. Maybe Ms. Falk’s understanding of her students wasn’t on Holden Rupert’s mind at all. Could he be trying to get her attention? Impress her in some convoluted way? He’d heard stupider stories for the eruption of violence.

  When she and Shelly reached Joe, Sherwood joined them and made the introductions. "This is Evelyn Falk. Evie, this is Sergeant Moretti."

  "Thanks for coming." He held up the phone. "Any idea why this is happening?"

  "No. I can’t believe it. Holden was the best student in my English class last year and now in my summer AP prep course."

  "Anything happen today that might have set him off?"

  "We had silent reading time after a brief discussion of a few chapters yesterday. Holden asked to talk to me after the bell rang, but I didn’t want him to be late for science." She gestured to the lab. "Mr. Jacobs always reams me out for keeping his kids after class. And he’s given Holden a rough time. So I told Holden to come see me at lunchtime."

  Another piece of the puzzle. Joe asked, "What are you reading?"

  "Catcher in the Rye."

  "The main character’s name is Holden in the story, Joe," Shelly put in. She’d been observing and would catch things he missed. Not this one, though.

  "Yeah, I remember." It ha
d been one of the few novels he’d read in high school. Most of the rest had never held his interest. "Could the boy’s actions relate to the book?"

  "He is taken with the story."

  "Would you talk to him?"

  "I guess."

  Drawing the teacher off to the right of the classroom, Joe spoke quietly to her. "Ask him to take the paper off the window of the door. Don’t go anywhere near it, though."

  She took the phone. "Holden, this is Ms. Falk." A pause. "No, the police won’t let me inside. You can come out, though." Another pause. "All right. Don’t get upset." She glanced at Joe, then spoke to Holden again. "Can you remove the paper from the window so I can see you while we talk?"

  After a moment, the paper disappeared. In a split second, Evie Falk stepped within view of the window; Joe leaped forward and pushed her out of sight range. She stumbled toward the wall.

  A blast. Ear-shattering glass. Joe’s shoulder burned and he was thrown backward onto the floor. His head slammed on the vinyl. The world dimmed, and stinging pain clouded his vision, echoed in his brain. Then there was darkness.

  ***

  DANA DEVLIN SAT in a specially designed recliner with her computer perched on her lap. She was talking online with Craig Dawson, whom she’d met through a dating service called RightMatch.com. She had a week off from Devlin Dance before the last of the summer workshops started and she vowed not to go into her studio for seven whole days.

  Craig returned her instant message, asking again for a date. Leaning back in the chair, sighing heavily, she hesitated. He was nice enough, attractive in his posted picture, and understanding. He even liked some of the same restaurants and shops in the city that she frequented.

  But Dana had to admit she kept thinking about JoeyD, another man she’d corresponded with from the dating site. She hadn’t met him in person, either. From his photo, she could tell he was gorgeous, and from his emails, that he was funny, somewhat self-effacing and, shockingly, they had a lot in common. They both exercised religiously, enjoyed the same kind of movies and preferred similar food and desserts. From what she could tell, they had similar values—hard work, close relationships, enjoying simple fun.