by Seton, Cora
“There’s a Christmas parade downtown tonight. Angela invited us to go,” he said.
She stopped typing and lifted her head to meet his gaze. “I have a lot of work to do, but you go ahead.”
He cocked his head. Definitely distant. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”
A look passed over her features that made him want to hold her. Reminding him they still hadn’t had their talk.
“What time does it start?”
“Six o’clock.”
She glanced at the computer screen. “That gives me a couple hours to work. I’ll be done by then.”
He nodded and started to close the door, but she stopped him.
“Do you think it’s safe to go?”
Her expression made him step into the room. “I’ll be at your side the entire time, along with my family. It’s a public place. I doubt this guy will try anything. If he’s even there.”
The lines around her mouth faded. “You’re right. I can’t live my life in fear of something that may or may not happen. He was probably just letting off steam.”
“Probably. The holidays bring out the best and worst in people.” Although, he’d be vigilant about her safety until they knew for sure. “Finish working. I’ll be here if you need me.”
He closed the door behind him and picked up his laptop off the table before sitting on the couch. His CO had sent an email about a possible training exercise right after Christmas. Donovan hoped it was CONUS—Continental U.S.—and not an overseas training op. Leaving Cloe alone with that madman out there didn’t settle well. He could ask his brothers to watch over her, but she’d be on her own when they weren’t there.
Opening his email, he clicked on the one from his commander. After scanning the brief message, he closed the laptop and leaned his head back. Damn. They were shipping out the day after Christmas.
Something he hadn’t felt since Jill filled his chest. Only stronger.
Donovan scrubbed a hand down his face. He didn’t want Cloe to leave. Not just go back home, but leave him. Like a fool, he wanted her to stay. Forever. Somewhere along the line he’d fallen hard for the beautiful blonde.
*
Cloe stood sandwiched between Donovan, his mom, sisters and a couple of his brothers. A crowd surrounded them, waiting for the parade to start. Both sides of the street were lined with people. Kids waited with excitement for candy that would be thrown from the floats. Parents happily watched their kids.
It all seemed so surreal to her. She wore jeans and a light sweater instead of a winter coat and boots. The palm trees were decorated with twinkling lights. Wonderful scents drifted out the open door of Demarco’s behind them. Donovan’s dad, brother and his wife were inside cooking for the crowd that still filled the restaurant. She wondered if it ever slowed down.
The sun had set, leaving only the street and Christmas lights to illuminate the streets. She really did like the quaint little town. Enjoyed the tangy, salt-tinged air. Could get used to living on the ocean.
A cheer went up in the crowd, signaling the start of the parade. Hyper-aware of Donovan’s hand on her lower back, she tried to focus on the colorful vehicles driving slowly toward them. But her gaze kept searching the crowd, looking for the face of the man who threatened her. Not that she expected to see him here. A man that unstable probably wouldn’t go to a Christmas parade.
“Relax, everything’s fine,” Donovan said softly in her ear. “Try and enjoy yourself.”
She sent him a look she hoped convinced him she would try. He had no idea how hard this was for her. Not his fault; she hadn’t told him why she struggled with Christmas. Or why her pain seemed easier to bear when she was with him.
That, she couldn’t tell him. How did you tell someone you just met you were falling for them? What kind of fool opened themselves up for more hurt like that?
Pushing her thoughts away, Cloe turned her attention to the Santa and elves passing on the street. The Santa winked at her and tossed something in the air straight for her. For a second she thought she recognized him as the Santa who’d made that cryptic comment after her accident. But when she tried to get a closer look he’d already passed by.
Donovan caught the item in his hand, handing it to her with a slight frown. “Santa usually throws candy,” he said.
Cloe stared at the ornament, her chest tight. Two tiny turtledoves. Known to mate for life. She ran her fingers over the delicate lines of the doves’ wings. Her mother had had an ornament similar to this. A gift from her father when they first got married. It was the first ornament they put on their tree every year. But, how could that Santa know that?
She searched for the Santa again, but he’d moved too far down the street for her to see past the holiday floats.
Unnerved, she wrapped her hand around the ornament. Afraid to let go. Afraid to hold on.
“You okay?” Donovan asked.
“My mom used to have an ornament like this,” she answered, staring at her closed fist.
“Turtledoves are a symbol of unity and Christmas.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “They find only one mate for life.”
“I guess Santa wanted you to have it.”
She looked up and met his gaze. “It’s an unsettling coincidence.”
Donovan pulled her closer to his side. “Someday you’re gonna have to tell me why that is.”
For the first time, she found herself wanting to share her grief. It surprised her how much she trusted Donovan. With her safety and her secrets. Maybe even her heart.
“I need to use the restroom,” she said, pulling away, her mind reeling.
“I’ll walk you.”
She shook her head. “Your restaurant is directly behind us. I’ll only be a minute. Stay here and enjoy the parade with your family.”
He looked ready to refuse, but she laid a hand on his chest. “I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re not back in five minutes I’m coming in after you,” he warned.
“Deal. Be right back.”
She felt his eyes on her as she made her way through the crowd to the restaurant. Once inside the bathroom, she closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. This day had thrown her for a loop. The ornament dug into her hand and she loosened her grip, forced the rest of her muscles to relax.
As much as she didn’t want to go there, the ornament threw her back into the past. Only this time, it wasn’t so painful. Well, it hurt, but not in the same way as it had over the past year. She actually felt nostalgic. With a little ray of hope.
It felt so good, tears sprung to her eyes.
Someone knocked on the door, startling her. Blinking away her tears, she pulled herself together and walked out. An elderly woman stood waiting to use the restroom. She smiled at Cloe before shuffling inside.
Cloe waved to Donovan’s brother on her way out. There were more people on the sidewalk now than before, making it difficult to push her way toward Donovan. When a hand latched onto her arm she jumped. Cold fingers dug into her flesh and began dragging her in the opposite direction.
Stunned, she looked up to see the man who’d caused her accident pulling her. She opened her mouth to yell for Donovan, but the man jerked her into his body, the scent of sweat and alcohol overwhelming her. Something hard pressed into her side.
“Scream and I’ll shoot you,” he hissed.
She looked down to see a gun in his hand, hidden by his sweatshirt. Oh, God.
No one noticed him guiding her toward the corner at gunpoint. She saw Donovan moving through the crowd toward the restaurant. Please, please, find me, she prayed. If anyone could, he would.
But not if she let this guy get her into his car.
“Hurry up.” The guy jerked her forward. The ornament fell from her hand. He didn’t let her pick it up, didn’t seem to hear it drop. His attention was focused on wherever they were going.
They bumped into a middle-aged woman. She turned around, looked at Cloe, then down at the gun digging into her side and let out a screa
m. All hell broke loose.
Someone shouted, “Gun!”
The crowd pulsed. Before Cloe could make a move to free herself, the guy wrapped an arm around her neck and aimed the gun at the crowd.
“Stay back or I’ll shoot!” he yelled.
Phones went up. Some recorded what was happening, some, she hoped, called 911.
“Put down the gun.”
Cloe looked over to see Donovan standing a few feet away. The only thing at odds with his calm demeanor was the muscle jumping in his jaw.
“Stay back,” her captor warned, his arm tightening around her neck until it became difficult to breathe.
Donovan put his hands up. “I’m not moving. But you need to think about what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing. She ruined my life. She needs to suffer like I am.”
“She isn’t responsible for your life.”
Cloe sent Donovan a hard look. Was he trying to push this guy over the ledge?
“The hell she isn’t. She crossed on a yellow. It wasn’t my fault. And because of that I missed an important meeting with a client. My boss fired me because I lost that client.”
She felt the anger radiating through his body, damp with sweat.
“Maybe I can talk to your boss and get your job back,” Donovan said in that calm, everything’s-okay tone.
The guy jerked her back a step. She coughed when his arm hit her windpipe. “You just love playing the hero, don’t you? Well, this time there isn’t anything you can do to stop me.”
Sirens sounded in the distance, drowning out the Christmas music still playing as the parade marched on.
Thank God. Someone had called the cops.
Dots began to dance in front of her eyes as the guy’s grip tightened. Donovan took a step closer and the guy went postal. Waving the gun around, making threats. Suddenly his grip released and the sweaty body holding her disappeared.
Cloe stumbled into Donovan’s arms, dragging in deep breaths. She looked back to see a muscular, dark haired man wrestle the man to the ground. He handed the gun to Donovan, who leaned around her to take it.
The cops busted through the crowd, ordering everyone not to move. In a blur, she watched them take the gun from Donovan and cuff the man on the ground. When she saw him being hauled away in handcuffs she wilted. Donovan wrapped his arms around her, safe and protected.
“You’re safe,” he murmured against her hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.”
She shook her head. “No. You saved me.”
“Actually, I saved you,” an amused male voice said behind her.
Cloe turned, not leaving the security of Donovan’s arms, to the handsome man who had grappled the guy to the ground and freed her. “Thank you,” she said.
Donovan clapped the guy on the shoulder. “Thanks, man. Knew you had my back.”
She looked between them. “You know him?”
The man held out a hand. “Jack Taggart. I’m on the team with Deuce.”
Of course. Only a Navy SEAL would know how to get a gun away from a criminal without hurting anyone. She shook his hand as Donovan’s family descended upon them. A gorgeous brunette threw herself in Jack’s arms, holding on for dear life.
Jack laughed, kissing her. “I’m fine. Had it handled the whole time, babe.”
The pieces clicked into place. Jack and Darci. This must be Jack’s wife. The one throwing the Christmas Eve party.
Everyone spoke at once, asking if she was all right. Still stunned, she could only nod. One of the cops interrupted, saying they needed to come make a statement at the station. Donovan promised his family he would call when they got home, so they let him go.
He led her to his car and helped her in, since her body didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Once inside, she wrapped her arms around her middle to stop her trembling. Donovan climbed in beside her, his hand covering hers briefly before he started the car and maneuvered onto the street.
“Oh, I found this,” he said, reaching into his pocket.
He handed her the turtledove ornament. Shaking, she took it. She held it against her chest and the last piece of ice shattered. Like it or not, she’d fallen in love with this charming Navy SEAL.
*
“The guy crumbled like a piece of crumb cake,” Deputy Sanders said.
Donovan tightened his hand around Cloe’s cold one. They’d given their statements, but Cloe refused to press charges. The police were charging him with felony assault and a handful of other charges.
“What did he say?” Cloe asked, her voice wavering slightly. “Why does he hate me so much?”
Deputy Sanders gave her a compassionate look. “This really had nothing to do with you. Except you were the last straw for this guy. His wife took out a restraining order a month ago when she filed for divorce. Guess he’s got debts he can’t pay and started getting rough with the wife, so she left him. When his boss fired him he went over the edge. He just blamed you because you happened to be the unlucky one there when he cracked.”
“He lost everything,” Cloe murmured.
“Appears so. And all within a couple months. Not your fault he ran a red that day and got himself fired. I talked with his boss and he’d been on the short list already. Acting out at work. Not bringing in clients as promised. Showing up late or not at all. He was a man on a ledge, Miss Carter. You did nothing wrong.”
A shudder ran through Cloe. Donovan rose to his feet, bringing her with him. He held out a hand to shake the deputy’s hand. “Thank you, Deputy.”
The deputy let go of his hand and said to Cloe, “I hope you don’t let this ruin your holiday.”
She gave him a jerky nod as Donovan led her from the room.
At his house, he suggested she take a long, hot bath. Cloe didn’t argue. He took the time to call his family and let them know everything was fine. Hopefully, Cloe would be too.
Seeing her being held at gunpoint had scared the life out of him. And made him accept that he never wanted to lose her.
The bathroom door opened and Cloe walked out, wearing a silky robe over her shorts and tank top. Her face was still pale, but she looked more relaxed.
“How about a glass of wine,” he suggested, starting to rise from the sofa.
She stopped him with a shake of her head. Her hands twisted in front of her, a frown marring her beautiful features.
“Cloe—”
She talked over him. “Last Christmas I was in a car accident that killed my fiancé and my parents.”
A rock settled in his gut.
“It was my fault. I was driving too fast, trying to outrun the storm. I hit a patch of black ice and crashed into the side of a mountain.” She stopped to draw in a shaky breath. “We shouldn’t have been traveling so late at night. My fiancé warned me about the storm, but I had just gotten a promotion at the ad agency I worked for and I worked late. I was always working late.”
Donovan let her get it out, not interrupting, but feeling her grief from even a few feet away. No wonder his comment about a beautiful girl being already married affected her so much. She’d been engaged. Damn.
“I had booked a ski resort for the weekend. Planned on celebrating Christmas at the resort. Which, if you knew my mom, took some doing. She was Martha Stewart when it came to holiday parties.” A small, sad smile touched her lips. “I actually convinced my mom to skip her annual Christmas Eve party and go on the trip. Trust me, a bigger deal than it sounds. She went all out on Christmas. Baking a month ahead, decorating the yard and house until they glowed with cheer. She was amazing. And my dad, he went along with it. Hanging lights and wreaths. Picking up the biggest, prettiest tree he could find. Taste-testing all the cookies, as he called it.”
He wanted her to sit by him so he could hold her, but she remained standing.
“I woke up in the hospital Christmas Day from a two-day coma. And that’s when they told me everyone I loved in the world was gone. I spent Christmas in the hospital. Al
one. Grieving. This is my first Christmas without my family or my fiancé and I don’t know what to do. I used to love this time of the year. Now, it reminds me of all I lost. What I did.”
His chest tightened. He knew about survivor’s guilt. Had seen it many times in teammates. Thankfully, had never had to experience it himself, but the risk was always there.
“That’s my story.”
Her gaze met his, searching. He sensed she wasn’t ready for a hug, so he stayed put.
“I wanted to thank you for everything you did to help me tonight. Through this whole thing. But, now that the threat is gone I need to get back to my life.”
The words hit him like a slap to the face. She was leaving.
Reeling, he nodded. “I’ll drive you home tomorrow.”
Something flitted across her face before she lowered her head to hide it. Disappointment?
“Thank you. Good night.”
“Goodnight, cara,” he said softly as she closed the door on him. On them.
Chapter Eleven
‡
With care, Cloe removed the flowered hatbox off her closet shelf and carried it to her bed. Her house felt empty and lonely without Donovan’s presence. As did her heart. She’d chosen to leave him before he left her and not a day went by she didn’t think about him. Or wake up from a sensual dream reaching for him.
It was for the best. At least that’s what she told herself. Her heart wasn’t buying it.
With a hand that shook, she pulled the lid off the box. Her breath escaped in a quiet rush as she stared at the contents. One by one, she took them out, her chest swelling with each memento. Letters from her dad to her mom when they were dating. Her mom’s favorite recipes. A picture of them at the beach when Cloe was young. Her parents’ wedding photo album.
As she unpacked the keepsakes, tears streamed down her face. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, clutching her parents’ picture to her chest. “Please, forgive me.”
“You have to forgive yourself.”
Her mother’s voice in her head made the tears fall harder. All the grief she’d been afraid to purge let go and she sobbed until there were no tears left.
