by Sharon Sala
“Where did you get these?”
“Your parents sent them to me, along with all of the letters I’d written you.”
She gasped.
“The message was plain,” David said. “I had no place in your life anymore. You had a husband and a child.” He tried to smile, but the pain of saying what he’d lived with all these years made it impossible. “Only I knew the child was mine. I knew you would never have cheated on me before, and the baby came too soon after your wedding.”
“But David…why let everyone think you were dead? I would never have refused you the right to know and love your own child.”
“I know, but you have to understand. It was hell over there and Frank died about a month after I got the package. After that, I guess I pretty much went out of my head. I tried so many damn ways to get myself killed, but it didn’t work. I volunteered for mission after mission, and each one should have been my last. When my tour of duty was up, I reenlisted. I was there when Saigon fell.”
Tears slid down Cara’s face as she sat with her hands clenched tightly in her lap.
“Why didn’t you come home then? Why did you let me…let everyone…think you were dead?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Hell…I felt dead, I guess I was just waiting for my body to catch up with my mind. Only thing was, Uncle Sam beat me to it.”
“I don’t understand.”
He hesitated, trying to figure out exactly what he could say without giving too much away.
“I can’t tell you everything,” he said. “But I got recruited by a Special Forces unit and became involved in some covert missions for the government. One thing led to another and now, let’s just say that my years with Uncle Sam are coming to an end.”
“Are you telling me you became a spy?”
“Don’t ask me anything more, honey…please. I’ve already said more than I should have.”
“My God,” Cara muttered. She stared down at the unopened letters in her lap and then covered her face with her hands.
David dropped to his knees and took her hands in his.
“Cara?”
Forced to look at him, she realized that, for the first time, she was really seeing the man—and his secrets—and his scars.
“Why did you come back? Why now, after all these years?”
He hesitated again, still carefully choosing his answers.
“Because I needed to make peace with myself and with you. I needed to look you in the face and tell you that when I left for Vietnam, I had every intention of coming back and making a life with you. I couldn’t go to my grave knowing you still believed I’d walked out on you, leaving you pregnant to raise our baby on your own. I swear to God, Cara, I would never have done that to you. I loved you.”
“What do you mean, go to your grave? Are you ill?”
He slid into the seat beside her, reaching for her hands.
“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m fine.”
Cara looked down at his hands, so gently worrying the knuckles of her fingers, wondering if it was safe to give so much of herself away. And then she shoved the worry away. They’d already lost too many precious years. Whatever he had to give her, she was willing to take.
“What are your plans?” she asked. “I mean…can you stay awhile? Maybe a few days? I want to show you things…and oh, David, you have to stay and meet Bethany. She and her family are on vacation, but they’ll be back at the end of the week. Five or six days. You can stay that long…can’t you?”
He heard himself answering and knew he was making a mistake, but there was no way he was going to lose her again, at least not yet. There was every reason to believe that his final showdown with Frank could be his last. He didn’t want to give Cara false hope, but on the other hand, he couldn’t deny himself this little bit of heaven.
“Yes. I’ll stay. At least for a while.”
For the first time in a very long while, Cara felt a sense of anticipation.
“Are you hungry? I was coming in the house to make myself some lunch when I heard you arrive.”
The lilt in her voice only deepened his guilt, but he found himself agreeing. “That sounds good. I can’t remember when I last shared a meal with anyone.”
Cara pulled out of his embrace. “Can’t remember when you last shared a meal? My God, David, what kind of life have you been living?”
“You don’t want to know.”
It was the dripping faucet in this excuse for a kitchen that finally sent Frank over the edge. He picked up a pan and began hammering on the fixture until it broke off in the sink. Water shot up like a geyser, spraying the ceiling and cabinets alike. A string of virulent curses filled the air as he reached for the shut-off valve beneath the sink. Finally, the water ceased to flow and Frank was left with a bigger mess than before he’d started. But it wasn’t the condition of his decrepit hideout that was pushing his buttons. It was the fact that, once again, he had failed to reach his goal. The water pooled around his pant legs as he leaned back against the cabinets and closed his eyes. He’d been close, so close.
He’d seen the stealth chopper coming in and knew in his bones it was David. Who else would have access to such state-of-the-art military equipment but the infamous Jonah?
As he thought of David, the muscles in his wounded shoulder gave a twinge and he shifted, easing his back to a more comfortable position against the cabinets. It was nothing but a flesh wound. He’d had worse. And the wound on his ear was almost well, too, although it would never be the same. Then he ran his hands through his hair in mute frustration, absently fingering the ancient burn scars on the side of his face. Hell, nothing had been the same since the day his own brother tried to burn him alive.
Disgusted with the mess in which he was standing, he went to the phone to call the manager to fix the sink. It didn’t occur to him that, like the sink, all of his troubles stemmed from something he’d done, rather than something that had been done to him. Afterward, he strode into the bedroom to change his clothes, absently stepping on a cockroach as he went. As he crossed the threshold, he caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked and dusty mirror across the room and froze. In that moment, he saw himself as others saw him, a tall and aging man with a glass eye and a bitter expression. His gray, thinning hair was brushed back, baring his scarred face for anyone who chose to look. Oddly enough, the look seemed to appeal to a certain type of woman, although he rarely took advantage of the fact. He still mourned his beloved Martha, his wife of so many years.
As he thought of her, pain shafted. He turned away, moving to the closet to get a fresh change of clothes. As soon as his shoulder was better, he was going after David himself. No more trying to get to him through the agents who worked under him. He was tired of this game. He wanted it over.
He dressed quickly, his mind shifting from one scenario to another, imagining the pleasure of watching the life drain out of David’s body. There was no future for him beyond that fact. His daughter had ceased to exist for him when she’d defected to the other side by falling in love with one of the agents. If only Martha was still alive. She’d been his reason for living. Then he blanked out the thought. There would be time later to wallow in memories. Right now, he had murder on his mind.
Night had come when Cara wasn’t looking. One minute she was cleaning up their supper dishes and tidying the living room and the next thing she knew it was dark. The idea of sleeping under the same roof with David Wilson was almost frightening. She’d known the boy, but she didn’t know this dark, brooding man. Then she reminded herself that his persona hadn’t bothered her enough to stop her from making love to him in her hall. Surely they could sleep beneath the same roof without incident. It wasn’t like he was going to murder her in her bed.
And the moment she thought it, her sanity took a hike. He’d all but said he was a spy. Spies killed people. Then she shook off the thought. He’d also been a soldier, and they killed people, too. It didn’t make them heinous. It mad
e them heroes.
Having settled that in her mind, she began to rearrange the magazines on the coffee table, unaware that David was watching her from the doorway. It wasn’t until she straightened and started to leave that she saw him standing in the shadows.
“Oh! David! You startled me.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“Was there something you needed?” she asked.
Yes, my life back…with you. “Not really. I was just watching you, thinking how very beautiful you are.”
“I’m a middle-aged grandmother,” she muttered, and gave the coffee table a final swipe with her dust cloth.
“With a damned fine body and a face that could still break a heart,” he added, and then walked into the room and took the dust cloth out of her hands. “We need to talk.”
Her heart fluttered, then settled back into a normal rhythm as she reminded herself there was no need to be nervous. The man was the father of her child. But when he took her by the hand and pulled her close to the light, she felt naked all over again beneath his gaze.
“I frighten you, don’t I?” he asked.
Cara blushed then sighed. Finally, she nodded. “A little.”
“My life has been ugly, I’ll admit, but I would die before I’d hurt you.”
The tenderness in his words was shattering. Before she knew it, her hands were on his chest, her face tilted toward the light—and him.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly. “I wasn’t thinking physical harm. It’s just that I’ve been alone for almost three years now and just starting to learn to live without the sound of someone else’s voice. It’s hard to become accustomed to loneliness when you’ve shared your life with another.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Again, his answer pulled at her emotions.
“What I’m trying to say is…you were my first love, David. I gave the truest and best part of myself to you.”
He groaned and started to take her in his arms when she stopped him.
“No…wait…let me finish.” She took a deep breath. “The only thing that kept me going after you left was knowing that I carried your child. My husband was a good man. He loved Bethany as if she was his own and never made a difference between his affections for her and our other two children.” She ducked her head and then made herself look at him. “But I’m ashamed to say that I never gave him what I should have because I’d already given it to you. Dead or alive, you had my heart. Now he’s dead and you’re back and I’m afraid. I’m afraid to get to know the man you’ve become. I’m afraid I’ll love him as much as I loved the boy.” Her voice trailed off into a whisper. “And I’m afraid that if I do, I won’t get over losing you again. So…what I guess I’m asking is, why did you really come? Was it just to assuage what you perceived as guilt, or were you looking for something more?”
He wanted to assure her, but he couldn’t lie. As long as Frank was loose, his life wasn’t worth a damn.
“I’d be lying if I said I’d only come to say hello. But there are a lot of loose ends to my past that have to be tied, and until that happens, I don’t have the luxury of making plans.”
Cara felt the blood draining from her face. That wasn’t what she expected to hear.
“That sounds fatal,” she said, trying to fake a laugh.
He didn’t answer, and the laugh became a sob.
“My God…tell me I’m wrong.”
“I can’t make promises…but if I could, then I’d be giving you fair warning that I wanted back in your life.”
Her voice trembled. “How far?”
“As far as you’d let me go.”
“Ah…David…you always were a hard sell,” she said, and then wrapped her arms around his neck.
The weight of her body against his chest was a gift.
“So, are you saying it’s enough?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not saying that, but I am saying that I’ll take what you’re willing to give. I asked for too much the first time and lost you. I’m not willing to make that mistake again.”
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.
“God…woman, you don’t know how many years I’ve dreamed of this.”
She pulled back to look at him. “Oh, but yes, I do. And while I would like the luxury of being wooed and courted, I’m not willing to waste our time on the ritual.”
“What are you saying?”
“I want to fall asleep in your arms and wake up the same way. I want to laugh with you and cook for you and play with you. I don’t want to think about loose ends. Whatever time you have to give me will have to be enough.”
He tunneled his fingers through her hair, taking her kiss without asking, ripping her emotions to shreds with the anguish on his face.
“I don’t deserve this,” he said.
“No, you don’t,” she said. “But I do.”
He laughed softly, then swept her off her feet and into his arms.
“Are you going to make love to me?” she asked.
“Hell, yes,” he muttered.
She sighed. “It’s about time.”
“If you don’t mind,” David whispered, nuzzling the side of her neck, “I’d rather do this in a bed this time.”
“Down the hall, third door on the right.”
As he carried her there, he had to remind himself that this wasn’t a dream. Cara was really in his arms.
When they reached Cara’s room, he set her down by her bed and kissed her. Tentatively, then gently, then with a low, muffled groan.
Cara tangled her arms around his neck, clutching him desperately. When he began to take off her clothes, her knees went weak. This was happening, she knew, but it was all so surreal. She couldn’t count the number of times in her life when she’d imagined such a scene. David striding through the door and sweeping her into his arms and then carrying her off into the sunset. The fantasy had lasted through her twenties and her thirties, and somewhere around the middle of her forties, she’d given up on fantasies.
Now this was happening and it wasn’t a dream.
It wasn’t a fantasy.
It was David—a rock-solid, flesh-and-blood man who wanted her as much as she wanted him.
When he began pulling off her clothes, then his, her pulse accelerated. Seconds later, she was flat on her back in the middle of her bed and he was hovering above her.
“You are so very beautiful,” David whispered, and then rolled over onto his side and began tracing the contours of her body with one hand, fingering the curve of her chin, cupping the shape of a breast, mapping the plains of her belly, then testing the juncture between her thighs.
Cara’s heart was pounding, her mouth slack with desire. She wanted to touch him, too, to test the strength of his muscles against the tenderness of his gaze, but she was too distracted by what he was doing.
“David?”
He shook his head and leaned over her, taking license with everything that he chose while leaving her breathless and aching for more.
One minute passed and then another and another and the coil that had been winding within Cara’s belly began to throb. She moaned, then moaned again. This time louder. This time longer.
David’s head was pounding as the blood rushed through his veins. The need to be inside her was strong, but he was waiting for that breaking point of coming undone.
Then he heard her gasp and saw her eyes lose all focus. When she clutched at his arms, his name a prayer on her lips, he made his move.
“David…oh…oh…please.”
He was above her and inside her before she took her next breath. Her climax shook him, coming within three strokes of entry, and it was all he could do not to follow. But when she started to cry in soft, happy sobs, he couldn’t hold himself back. The joy of knowing he’d given her this pleasure was an aphrodisiac he couldn’t control. He rode the feeling with all the strength he could muster, and when it was over, thought he’d died in her arms
.
Cara woke abruptly, as mothers always do when sensing something wasn’t right in their world. Only this time, it wasn’t the high-pitched wail of a frightened child that woke her, it was the man beside her. She lay motionless, listening to the labored rhythm of his breathing, and fought an urge to cry. His skin was clammy and he kept muttering something she couldn’t understand. She raised up on one elbow, staring intently into the shadowed contours of his face, then let her gaze drift down his body. She’d seen the scars. Bullet holes. A shrapnel wound. A thick, ropy scar along the back of his leg. Dear Lord, what had happened to him? What hell was he reliving in his dreams?
Suddenly, he sat straight up in bed and she fell back in surprise.
“David?”
At the sound of her voice, his body went limp.
“I forgot where I was,” he said.
“You were dreaming.”
“Yes.”
“Can I get you something? A glass of water? Some aspirin?”
He crawled out of bed and walked across the room to where his suitcase was lying.
“Where are you going?” she asked, as she watched him dig a pair of shorts from the case.
“I need to run it off,” he said shortly. “I’ll be fine. Go back to sleep.”
“Run what off, David?”
He turned then, nothing but a mass of shadow and shape on the other side of the room, but the tone of his voice was image enough.
“The past.”
“But David, you can’t run away from the past.”
“I know, but I can damn well wear it out. Now go back to sleep. I’ll let myself in when I come back.”
“You’ll need a key,” she said, and started to get up.
“No, I won’t.”
Then he was gone.
She lay there for a moment, absorbing the last thing he’d said and then started to tremble. What kind of man had she let into her bed?
Chapter 3
David ran without thought, focusing only on the impact of foot to ground and the mind-numbing relief that exhaustion always brought. Leaving Cara had seemed cowardly, especially after he’d come all this way to see her. But he was too ashamed to let her see his weaknesses—to admit that something as innocuous as a nightmare could undo him to this extent.
