The Defiant Hero

by Suzanne Brockmann

  He looked her dead in the eye and the world tilted slightly. “Can you really blame me?”

  She couldn’t respond to that. “I really appreciate your not giving in to your anger and, you know, your not talking to anyone about what we, um, did that night.”

  “Okay,” Starrett said. “We’re a slow learner, huh? Let me see if I can say it so you’ll understand. I’m not going to talk about it to anyone. It’s not their business. What we did is between you and me. No matter how mad you make me—and, shit, you can make me mad!—that’s not going to change. You want me to say it again, more slowly this time?”

  Locke shook her head. “No, I’m . . . I got it. I’m . . . Thank you.”

  He tossed the pieces of twig into the dust, one at a time. “Forget about it.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “That’s not a bad idea. In fact, I was thinking . . .”

  He looked up at her in silence, waiting for her to go on. How was it that he could have been so good, so gentle and kind with Amy and Eve out there in the woods just a few hours ago? She’d been impressed with the way he’d taken charge of the situation. He was good at what he did. She couldn’t deny that.

  So why did he always treat her so badly?

  Locke cleared her throat. “You know, Starrett, since you’re in the most elite SEAL team in the country, and I’m in the FBI’s top counterterrorist unit, well, there’s a really good chance we’re going to run into each other with a certain frequency.”

  He nodded. “There is.”

  “I’m assuming you’re not going anywhere in the near future—”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “And I would rather not have to transfer and . . .” She took a deep breath. “In an attempt to make things as least awkward as possible, I think we should both simply pretend that night never happened. You know, forget it ever took place.”

  Sam nodded, still just watching her. “Is that really what you want?” he asked quietly.

  As she looked into his eyes, she felt a flash of uncertainty. “Yes,” she said, trying to feel as sure as she sounded. “From this point on, we don’t talk about it again, all right?”

  Sam still watched her steadily. Finally he nodded. “All right.”

  Locke nodded, too. “Good,” she said. “Thank you.” She backed away from him. “I’m going to . . . go find Jules and . . .” Her voice trailed off as she looked at him. He looked even more green than he did before. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Perfect,” he said. “I’m abso-fucking-lutely perfect.”

  “See you around, then,” she said.

  “Right. Later.” His soft laughter followed her as she walked away.

  The sun had been up for hours before Meg came out of the room in the safe house where Amy was sleeping.

  “I’m going to sleep in there,” she told Nils. “I hope you don’t mind. I just . . . I need to be with her for a while.”

  He nodded. “I didn’t expect anything less.”

  She sat next to him on the couch, slipping into his arms as if she belonged there.

  “Okay,” he said.

  She looked up at him. “Okay?”

  He nodded. “I’m ready.”

  She put her hand directly on top of him. “Hmm,” she said, “that can’t be what you mean . . .”

  Nils laughed and moved her hand. He kissed her palm and placed it over his heart. “Don’t try to distract me. This is hard—I mean, difficult—enough, Ms. Dirty Mind.”

  She kissed him sweetly then pulled back to gaze into his eyes. “John, you don’t have to do this right now.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve got something I need to ask you, but before I can do that, I have to talk to you about a couple things. You know, about tonight—”

  “Ah,” Meg said. “I was wondering when we were going to talk about what you had to do tonight to save my life. Are you okay?”

  “Actually, it’s not an issue for me,” he told her. “But I thought the fact that it wasn’t might be an issue for you. I eliminated two targets tonight. To be honest, I don’t think about them as people. I know that probably sounds cold to you, but . . . I don’t gain anything by giving names and homes and families to terrorists. They were threats, Meg. To you and to me. And I took them out. It was fast, it was clean, and if I’d only wounded them, they would have kept shooting until one of us was dead. I did what I had to do and I refuse to feel bad about it.”

  “Really?” she asked.

  “After something like this happens, I have to go in for a required number of sessions with a shrink,” he explained. “He seems convinced I’m doing okay—at least for a guy who’s a liar, a killer, and a thief.”

  “Liar, killer, and thief I can handle. What I’m having trouble with is the fact that you never taught me to say shit in Kazbekistani.”

  He laughed. “Sorry about that. She asked, and . . . well, I told her.”

  She leaned her head back against his shoulder. “You’re forgiven. I’m feeling very forgiving today.”

  Nils took that as his cue. “When I was fifteen,” he told her, “my father got a job working as a janitor at Milfield Academy.”

  “He was the janitor. Suddenly it all makes sense.”

  “He was treated like crap by all those rich kids,” Nils said. “He hated it, I know he did, but he wouldn’t quit. He said it was good, honest work and there was no shame in that. But you see, part of his salary was my tuition. He was doing it for me.”

  She was listening, so he kept going, telling her things he’d never told anyone. Things he’d never managed to forget. Things he’d tried for years to keep hidden. Things he didn’t want to hide from her. Not anymore.

  “So I went there—this poor-as-shit kid, jammed in with all those rich assholes. And it got to me, Meg. What they did and what they said and what they thought. It started to matter. And I . . .” He choked it out. “I pretended I wasn’t related to that weird old janitor who shuffled around the campus. God forbid anyone find out he was my father. Yeah, even though I wasn’t rich, I got the asshole part down pretty well, pretty fast.”

  Meg took his hand and interlaced their fingers. “I did some terrible things in high school, too, John. Nobody judges other people on that kind of ancient history.”

  “I judge myself,” he told her. “I live, every day, with the memory of the look in my father’s eyes . . . It was the afternoon I got the highest score on some test—I don’t even remember what it was anymore. All I remember was that I was a freshman, and I got the best grade in the school—it was posted for everyone to see. And, Jesus, he was so proud of me. He waited for me outside of one of my classes after he got the news. I saw him there—he knew I saw him. And I walked right past him without even saying a word. I didn’t want to stop and acknowledge him in front of my friends.” Just thinking about it still brought tears to his eyes. “From that day on, he never approached me during school. Never again.”

  Nils shook his head. “I swear to God, Meg, until the day I die, I will never forget the look on that man’s face as I walked away. He was a good man. He was one of the most honest, intelligent, kindest people I’ve ever known.”

  “Yet he drank.” Meg sat up, kneeling on the couch to face him.

  “That doesn’t make him a bad person,” Nils told her. “He was a good person who made mistakes.”

  She was looking at him with those eyes that could see right through him, past all the bullshit and pretense, right to his heart and soul. “Why can’t you cut yourself the same slack?”

  Nils nodded. “That’s what I’m trying to do—what I’m hoping you’ll do. Cut me some slack and . . .” He laughed. “I don’t know how to do this, how to say it, so I’ll try to imagine what my father would’ve done, okay?”

  He got down on the floor, in front of her, on one knee.

  Meg laughed. “Oh, John . . .”

  “Will you marry me?” he asked her. He couldn’t keep from laughing either. “I’m serious. I know I don’t loo
k or sound it, but, Meg . . .” He lost himself in her eyes. “I want to spend my life with you.”

  She smiled at him. “I like your father’s style. And I love your father’s son, despite all the mistakes he might’ve made.”

  His heart leapt. “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  She smiled into his eyes, and he knew he’d found the ultimate win-win scenario.

  Nils kissed her, grabbing hold of his happily ever after. It had been a long time coming, and he was never going to let it—or Meg—go.

  Also by Suzanne Brockmann

  Published by The Ballantine Publishing Group:

  HEARTTHROB

  BODYGUARD

  THE UNSUNG HERO

  “I’m here,” Nils said, painfully aware of how little that might mean to her. He tried again. “You’re not alone in this anymore, Meg.”

  She clung to him, and he held her just as tightly, stroking her hair, kissing the top of her head, wishing . . . Christ, he didn’t know what he wished.

  Maybe he wished that she could’ve been in his arms any place else in the world and at any other time but right here and right now.

  He could feel Lt. Paoletti standing off to the side, giving them both some space. But they didn’t have much time.

  “I need you to be tough for just a little bit longer,” he told her. “Can you do that for me, Meg? We’ve got a lot of questions that only you can answer.”

  She was trembling, but somehow managed to nod, yes. She released her death grip on his neck and pulled back to look at him, wiping her eyes with one shaky hand.

  “They kidnapped Amy and my grandmother,” she said. “They said they were Kazbekistani Extremists, and that, and that if I didn’t come here and abduct or kill the new Ambassador—they didn’t really care which—they’d kill them.”

  Her eyes welled with tears again, but she wiped them fiercely away. “But then I thought of you. I thought if anyone could get me out of this . . .”

  “You did the right thing,” he reassured her. “Calling me—asking for me—was the right thing.”

  Read on for a sneak peek

  of Gone Too Far,

  the breathtaking new novel

  from Suzanne Brockmann

  Sarasota, Florida

  Monday, June 16, 2003

  Roger “Sam” Starrett’s cell phone vibrated, but he was wedged into the rental car so tightly that there was no way he could get the damn thing out of the front pocket of his jeans.

  At least not without causing a twelve car pileup on Route 75.

  He had the air conditioning cranked—welcome to summer in Florida—and the gas pedal floored, but the subcompact piece of shit that was one of the last cars in the rental company’s lot was neither cool nor fast.

  It was barely a car.

  Feeling trapped in an uncomfortable place had been pretty much SOP for Sam ever since he rushed into marriage with Mary Lou nearly two years ago, and he waited for the familiar waves of irritation and anger to wash over him.

  Instead, he felt something strangely similar to relief.

  Because the end was finally in sight. And Sarasota was only another few minutes down the road.

  Sam knew the town well enough—he’d hitched down here from his parents’ house in Fort Worth, Texas, four summers in a row, starting when he turned fifteen. It had changed a lot since then, but he had to believe that the circus school was still over by Ringling Boulevard.

  Which wasn’t too far from Mary Lou’s street address.

  Maybe he should make a quick stop, pick up a few more Bozos, turn this thing into a bonafide clown car.

  On the other hand, one was probably enough to qualify for clown car status.

  His phone finally stopped shaking.

  What were the chances that it had been Mary Lou, finally calling him back?

  Nah, that would be too damn easy.

  Although, in theory, this should have been an easy trip. Pop over to Sarasota. Pick up the divorce papers that Mary Lou was supposed to have sent back to him three weeks ago. Put an end to the giant-ass mistake that was their marriage, and maybe even try to start something new. Like a real relationship with his baby daughter, who after six months probably wouldn’t even recognize him, then pop back home to San Diego.

  Fucking easy as pie.

  Except this was Mary Lou he was dealing with. Yes, she was the one who’d filed for this divorce. Yes, she’d been compliant right up to this point. But Sam wouldn’t put it past her to change her mind at the zero hour.

  And it was, indeed, the zero hour.

  And, true to form, Mary Lou was surely messing with him.

  Had to be.

  Why else wouldn’t she have sent the papers back to the attorney after receiving them four weeks ago? Why else wouldn’t she return Sam’s phone calls? Why else would she not pick up the phone even when he called at oh dark hundred, when he knew she had to be there because the baby was surely sleeping?

  Sam reached for the stick to downshift as he took the exit ramp for Bee Ridge Road, and came into contact with the stupidass automatic transmission.

  Six months ago, this entire suckfest scenario would have made him bullshit. Everything sucked. This car sucked, the fact that he had to come all this way for something that should have cost the price of a first-class postage stamp sucked, and knowing that Haley was going to look at him as if he were some stranger really sucked.

  But along with that weird feeling of relief came a sense of readiness. Maybe this wasn’t going to be easy, but that was okay. He was ready for it. He was ready for anything.

  Like, Haley was probably going to cry when he tried to hold her. So he wouldn’t hold her at first. He’d take it slow.

  And Mary Lou, well, she was probably going to ask him to get back together. He was ready for that, too.

  “Honey, you know as well as I do that it just wasn’t working.” He tried the words aloud, glancing at himself in the rear view mirror, checking to see if he looked apologetic enough.

  But, shit, he looked like roadkill. His eyes were bloodshot behind his sunglasses, and the flight out of Atlanta had been weather delayed for so damn long that he desperately needed a shower.

  And he definitely shouldn’t start out by calling her honey. She had a name, and it was Mary Lou. Honey—and every other term of endearment he’d ever used like sugar, darling, sweetheart, sweet thing—was demeaning.

  He could practically hear Alyssa Locke’s voice telling him so. And God knows Alyssa Locke was the Queen of Right.

  She’d hated it something fierce when he’d called her sweet thing. So he’d called her Alyssa, drawing the S’s out as he whispered her name in her perfect ear as they’d had sex that should’ve been listed in the World Record Books. Best Sex of All Time—Sam Starrett and Alyssa Locke, Champions of the Simultaneous Orgasm.

  Ah, God.

  What was Alyssa going to think, when she heard about his divorce?

  Sooner or later the news was going to get out. Up to this point, his commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander Tom Paoletti and the SEAL team’s XO, Lieutenant Jazz Jaquette, were the only ones who knew that Sam and Mary Lou were finally calling it quits. He hadn’t told Nils and WildCard yet—his best friends in Team Sixteen. Shit, he hadn’t told his sister, Elaine. Or even Noah and Claire.

  And he sure as hell hadn’t told Alyssa Locke.

  Who was probably going to think, “Thank God I’m in a committed relationship with Max so Roger Starrett doesn’t come sniffing around my door looking for some play.” Max. The fucker. Even after all this time, Sam was still insanely jealous of Max Bhagat. Despite his new sense of relief and hope, he was feeling neither when it came to thoughts of Alyssa and Max.

  “How could you fuck your boss?” he asked.

  Alyssa, of course, because she wasn’t in the car, didn’t answer him.

  It wasn’t too tough of a question. Sam could come up with plenty of answers without Alyssa’s help. Because Ma
x was handsome, powerful, brilliant and, yes, probably great in bed.

  Yeah, and who was he kidding with that probably? Max was no doubt definitely great in bed. Sam knew Alyssa, and she wasn’t about to spend over a year of her life with someone who couldn’t keep up with her sexually.

  And as far as the fact that the man was her boss . . .

  She and Max were incredibly discreet. In fact, they were so discreet, there were some people in the Spec Ops community who refused to believe that they actually had an intimate relationship.

  But Sam knew better. He’d gone knocking on Alyssa’s hotel room door about six months ago. And yeah, it was a stupidass thing to do. He and Mary Lou hadn’t even separated back then. He had no business knocking on anyone’s door.

  But an FBI agent matching Alyssa’s description—a woman of color, in her late twenties—had been killed that day, and until the news came down that Alyssa wasn’t on the casualty list, Sam kind of lost it.

  Except who had opened that hotel room door that he’d knocked on? Well, gee, hiya Max. Sorry, I woke you, man.

  And that was it. Game over. It was looking into Max’s eyes that did it. The fucker cared deeply about Alyssa—that was more than clear.

  And every day since then, Sam tried—he really honestly tried—to be happy for her.

  And as for his own elusive happiness . . .

  Well, he was done feeling sorry for himself. And he was done letting this divorce take place on Mary Lou’s timetable, with Mary Lou running this freak show.

  Sam and his expensive new lawyer had worked out a schedule of visits—dates and times that he could see Haley. He wasn’t looking for joint custody—that would be crazy. As a SEAL he went out of the country at the drop of a hat, sometimes for weeks or even months at a time.

  He just wanted to be able to see his kid a couple of times a week whenever he was Stateside. Surely Mary Lou would agree to that.

  To make it a no-brainer for her, Sam was prepared to give her the deed to their house back in San Diego—free and clear. He’d take care of the mortgage and continue to pay the taxes. Now that Mary Lou’s sister Janine had split up with her husband, Sam’s plan was to talk all three of them—Mary Lou, Janine and Haley—into moving back to California.