Plain Danger (Military Investigations)

by Debby Giusti

  “The entrance to the cave.”

  “Which was hidden for years. I noticed it on the old plat. When Oliver tore through the vines and undergrowth, he did us a favor.”

  Carrie peered inside the dark opening.

  “Follow me.” Tyler motioned her forward.

  “This doesn’t bring back good memories.”

  He squeezed her hand. “You may change your mind.”

  Turning on the flashlight, Tyler angled the light into the far recesses of the cave where a small opening appeared. “Hope you’re not frightened by small spaces.”

  “Would it make a difference?”

  “You could stay here and wait for me.”

  She shook her head. “No, Tyler, we’re in this together.”

  His smiled widened. “I like that.”

  He hesitated for a moment and lowered his lips to hers. “Excuse me, ma’am, but I thought a kiss was in order.”

  Not that she objected.

  She would have rather stayed and continued kissing him instead of bending low and entering the smaller confined area.

  The flashlight played over the interior chamber.

  Tyler sighed with discouragement.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I thought—”

  The light caught on a dirt-covered object. “There.” He pointed and motioned her to follow him to where a small rectangular box sat.

  Kneeling, Tyler brushed his hands over the surface. A cloud of dirt and dust filled the air.

  “It’s a trunk,” she gasped, realizing what they’d found.

  Tyler undid the latch and slowly lifted the lid. He shone the light into the interior.

  Carrie pulled out a faded quilt and unwrapped a teapot that had been carefully nestled within the fabric. The weight of the pot and the tarnished facade made her realize it was probably sterling. Quickly she unwrapped a coffee urn and cream and sugar accompanying pieces.

  “Charlotte Harris wrote about her tea service.” Carrie glanced up at Tyler. “We’ve found her keepsakes.”

  He angled the light into the truck. “There’s more.” He handed her two objects.

  “Silver candlesticks,” Carrie said. “They’re beautiful.”

  A small box lay nestled in table linens. Carrie gasped when she opened it, seeing the cameo brooch surrounded by seed pearls. “It’s exquisite.”

  “No gold coins, but treasures nonetheless.” He drew out a leather-bound Bible.

  Carrie read the names listed inside. Charlotte Jones and Jefferson Harris and their children.

  “It’s a family tree,” she said to Tyler.

  He put his arm around her shoulder and drew her close. “It’s your family, Carrie.”

  “But I want a real one, Tyler. Not just the memories.”

  He hesitated and then his face softened. “We haven’t known each other long, but I want a family, a family with you, Carrie. You can say no if you want to go back to Washington, but I hope you want to stay here. I want you to be my wife.”

  “Oh, Tyler,” she sighed.

  “We can take our time, but I love you, and want to spend the rest of my life holding you in my arms.”

  “That’s what I want too.”

  She glanced at the Bible. “We’ll write our names in the family tree. Tyler Zimmerman and Carrie York Harris wedded into married life.”

  “There’s space for the names of our children,” Tyler added with a smile, before he kissed her.

  Slowly they walked back to the Harris home. Carrie wore the cameo, and Tyler carried the trunk filled with the family treasures.

  In the field behind the house, they spied Joseph running toward them with Bailey at his heels. “Guess what?”

  “You’re so excited, Joseph.” Carrie laughed. “Do you have a surprise?”

  “Yah. Gott is giving me a baby brother or sister.”

  Carrie’s heart burst with joy at the good news. “Oh, Joseph, that’s wonderful.”

  “I told Mamm I’d been praying for a baby harder than I was praying for a dog.”

  “It sounds as if God answered the best prayer of all,” Tyler said, smiling at the boy.

  “He answered both prayers.” Joseph motioned them forward. “Look what’s in the box on the front porch.”

  Tyler placed the trunk inside the house and then joined Carrie on the Lapps’ porch.

  Peering into the box, she smiled.

  “It’s a puppy,” Joseph squealed. “An Irish setter like Bailey. Mamm said they will be best friends if you stay here.”

  “Don’t worry, Joseph.” She took Tyler’s hand. “I’m staying here. I wouldn’t leave this area for anything.” She looked at the house and the small boy and the dog and then into Tyler’s eyes. “Everything I love is here.”

  Then as Joseph and Bailey played and the puppy frolicked nearby, Tyler and Carrie sat in the rockers on the porch of her father’s house and enjoyed the evening breeze and the smell of the flowers blooming as spring arrived in Freemont—the first of many springs they would have together. They’d be together for a lifetime of seasons that would take them from today across the years when children of their own would play in the yard. They’d add their names and the names of their grandchildren to the family Bible so the rich heritage of the Harris-Zimmerman family would continue on...forever.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from NAVY SEAL SECURITY by Liz Johnson.

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed Plain Danger, the ninth book in my Military Investigations series, which features heroes and heroines in the army’s Criminal Investigation Division. Each story stands alone, so you can read them in any order, either in print or as an ebook: The Officer’s Secret, book 1; The Captain’s Mission, book 2; The Colonel’s Daughter, book 3; The General’s Secretary, book 4; The Soldier’s Sister, book 5; The Agent’s Secret Past, book 6; Stranded, book 7; and Person of Interest, book 8. Carrie York inherits an antebellum home in Amish country from a father she never knew and ends up in the middle of a murder investigation. When the killer comes after her, she needs CID Special Agent Tyler Zimmerman to keep her safe, but both of them struggle with issues from the past. If you feel burdened by past pain, ask the Lord to open your heart to His mercy and love so, like Carrie and Tyler, you too can live happily ever after.

  I want to hear from you. Email me at debby@debby giusti.com. Visit my website at www.debbygiusti.com, blog with me at www.seekerville.blogspot.com and at www.crossmyheartprayerteam.blogspot.com, and friend me at www.facebook.com/debby.giusti.9.

  As always, I thank God for bringing us together through this story.

  Wishing you abundant blessings,

  Debby Giusti

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense story.

  You enjoy a dash of danger. Love Inspired Suspense stories feature strong heroes and heroines whose faith is central in solving mysteries and saving lives.

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  Navy SEAL Security

  by Liz Johnson

  ONE

  If Luke Dunham didn’t see another white coat until his last day on earth, it would still be too soon.

  But he’d made a promise to his senior chief’s wife.

  He clattered to a stop at the foot of the slanted ramp in front of a nondescript brick building, which looked just like every other in the medical complex. His gaze shifted from the steps at the front of the building to the too-short metal crutches digging into his sides.

  Stairs or the ramp?

  A low fire burned in his chest, and he squeezed his eyes closed against the flames that licked at his heart.

  For years he ha
dn’t cared. Either way was fine. Either got him where he needed to go.

  Now he cared.

  Now he didn’t have an option.

  He swung his left leg forward. The white brace succeeded in protecting his knee and also throwing him off-balance. Shoving one of his crutches out to the side, he caught himself just before his foot touched the ground.

  He’d already made that mistake once. There was a reason his doctor had told him to stay off it at all costs.

  It hurt. Like an inferno.

  Like he’d taken another piece of shrapnel along that roadside in Lybania.

  He opened his mouth, a pained groan on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back when the glass door at the top of the ramp flew open. A teenage girl bounced out, her strides so even he barely noticed that one of the knees below her shorts was wrapped in a black brace.

  She flipped her long blond hair over her shoulder and shot him a shy smile as she started down the ramp.

  He tried to return her gesture, but the IED that had stolen his ability to walk had also made it hard to find genuine happiness. He settled for a shallow dip of his chin and lumbered out of her way.

  When the girl was halfway to him, the office door swung open and a woman with orange hair popped out.

  “Juliana,” she said, before chasing the teen for five short steps.

  Juliana’s one-eighty was less graceful than her forward motion, requiring at least two extra steps and the aid of the handrail, but her knee remained stable.

  The wild-haired woman held out a bag, at which Juliana laughed, high and sweet. “Thanks, Tara.” Juliana slipped skinny arms through the straps, sliding a small backpack in place. “See you next week.” With that, she executed another awkward turn and ambled past him.

  Luke looked up at the woman still leaning against the handrail, her arms now folded over her neon-green scrubs.

  Was this Tara the Dr. Berg everyone said was so amazing? The physical therapist his senior chief on the teams, Matt, was convinced had gotten him back in fighting shape after his leg injury? But Matt’s injury hadn’t been a blown knee. He’d had a couple dozen stitches in his calf, a minor injury to his muscle.

  Luke, on the other hand, had shredded every major ligament in his knee.

  The doctor at Walter Reed Medical Center had offered him a medical discharge after that first scan. He’d told Luke there wasn’t much hope for a return to active duty. And every doctor thereafter had agreed.

  But Luke had promised Ashley Waterstone, the senior chief’s wife, that he’d schedule a consultation with Matt’s physical therapist.

  Squinting into the late-afternoon sun, he shuffled until he’d cut the distance between them in half. “I’m Luke Dunham.”

  The woman’s gaze slid over him like a sculptor searching for imperfections in her masterpiece.

  He’d been on the receiving end of that simultaneously curious and knowing stare before. And he’d enjoyed it for a few years. When he was younger. In his early days as a SEAL.

  Now it made his stomach churn and his skin feel clammy, even in the warm San Diego air. “I’m early. But I have an appointment with Dr. Berg.”

  “Of course you do, honey.” She gave a sharp nod and walked back to hold the front door open for him. Such a little gesture, but it still set his hands to itching. His dad had taught him that a man held the door open for a woman. Period.

  That he couldn’t even do it for himself set off that blazing ache in his chest again.

  “I’m Tara, Dr. Berg’s office manager.”

  Matt had promised that working with her would change his life.

  Maybe.

  But that would require a life. And he wasn’t sure he had much of one left.

  At least this was just a recon mission. He hadn’t committed to anything beyond talking with the good doctor...and picking up milk for his mom on the way home.

  Tara was still standing with the door wide-open, and Luke hadn’t moved an inch. She raised her eyebrows and nodded inside, silently asking what was taking him so long. Sucking in a fortifying breath, he pressed his palms against the rubber grips of his crutches and began a slow lumber up the incline. As he reached the open entrance, a blast of cold air greeted him.

  “Is it always a meat locker in here?”

  Tara shrugged one shoulder as she led the way across a mostly typical medical waiting room. Sturdy chairs lined three walls, except for three conspicuous holes that could only be there for those who brought their own seats. The usual industrial carpet had been swapped for hardwood, which was easier to maneuver on.

  He fell into one of the chairs and poked his tongue in his cheek as he took the clipboard that Tara held out to him.

  “Fill that out, and then someone will take you back to see Dr. Berg.”

  By this point, he could pretty much fill out a standard medical questionnaire with his eyes closed. It was all the same. Surgeries and allergies. Insurance and history.

  But there, at the very bottom of the page, was a single question he’d never been asked on any other form.

  How much do you want it?

  There was no box to check next to it. Not even a black line to write on. Just a clear call to hard work.

  Luke’s SEAL training instructors had asked him the same thing, and he’d showed them he wanted it more than anything else he’d ever dared to dream of.

  “Almost done?”

  He jumped at the feminine voice that didn’t belong to Tara. The woman standing at the wooden door that presumably led to the exercise and exam rooms offered neither a smile nor a frown. Her face was simply relaxed. One hand rested on her hip, and she cocked her head, sending her long black hair over one shoulder. The collar of her navy blue polo shirt stuck up below her left ear.

  At least she wasn’t wearing a white coat.

  Undoubtedly another of Dr. Berg’s assistants.

  He held out the completed form, and she took it, nodding down a short hallway. “We’ll go all the way down to the big room at the end.”

  As he moved in that direction, her steps eerily silent behind him, he fought the rush of uncertainty that washed across his shoulders. Another set of soundless footfalls had taken everything from him. His palm slipped against the grip, suddenly slick and clammy, and sweat broke out across his upper lip.

  This wasn’t the same.

  It wasn’t the same.

  How many times would he have to remind himself of that before he believed that he was home, that men didn’t walk around with bombs strapped to their chests and women didn’t push strollers of explosives down city streets?

  He paused just long enough to swipe his forearm across his mouth.

  “Do you wear out more easily than you used to?”

  “Not much.” That was a bit of a whopper, but he didn’t feel like explaining that his sudden sweats had less to do with muscle strain and nearly everything to do with a memory he couldn’t erase.

  The hallway seemed as if it would never end, with her unseen, unheard steps always behind him. Finally he reached the open entrance she’d indicated. The room was bigger than his old apartment. There was a row of weight machines along the far wall and floor-to-ceiling windows to his left. The panes were covered with fabric shades, which kept the setting sun mostly hidden. To his right sat three consultation tables.

  The woman leaned her hip against the first table, fixed her wayward collar and crossed her arms, her gaze assessing and cool. When her stare hit his wrapped knee, she lingered, and the muscles in his back grew tight. Even with his sweatpants tucked into his brace, he felt bare, too exposed.

  “When will I meet Dr. Berg?”

  Her wide eyes met his gaze, a frown pinching the corners of her mouth. “I didn’t introduce myself, did I?” He shook his head. “I am Dr. Berg. Mandy. Please, call me Mandy.”

  His eyebrows shot up before he could stop them. So, this was the good doctor. The young doctor. She looked just about old enough to start college, but she’d helped Matt more
than three years ago. She wasn’t exactly a rookie.

  Clearing his throat, he tried to find something to say. Nothing came to mind. Not even a generic greeting.

  That was odd. He’d never been at a loss for words before the bomb. Before the surgery. Before his future had become so absolutely uncertain.

  After what felt like hours of weighted silence, she pasted a smile into place. “So tell me, Petty Officer Dunham—”

  “Luke.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Please. I prefer— Call me— It’s just Luke.” He bit off the words, unsure how to explain that the medical discharge he’d been offered was one signature, one failed physical away. And after that, he’d never be a petty officer again. Every official document that touted it, every voice that spoke it was just more evidence of how close he was to losing it. All of it.

  And a reminder of how much he’d already lost.

  “Of course.” She pressed her hand flat to her stomach, her shoulders rising and falling in an exaggerated motion. “How long were you at Walter Reed?”

  He hitched his chin toward the manila file lying on the table next to her hip. “Isn’t that in my file?”

  “It is. But I’m asking you.”

  He narrowed his gaze on her, trying to read between the smooth angles of her face, but whatever she was thinking was hidden beneath a mask of easy professionalism. She maintained eye contact, never flinching, even as he felt the scowl that had become his cover slide into place. “Too long.”

  She gave him a half smile, the corresponding jolt in his stomach making him stand up a little straighter. She should be frowning. After all, he’d perfected keeping people at a distance since the surgery. Keeping them at arm’s length was easier than watching their pitying expressions.

  “And in calendar terms?” she asked.

  The muscles in his jaw screwed up tighter than a tourniquet. “Three weeks before they could move me to San Diego.”

  “Other injuries?”

  He shrugged. “There were a few.” Dozen. The shrapnel from the blast that had twisted his knee had left marks up and down the left side of his body.

  But all of that would be in his file.