Point of No Return

by Rita Henuber

  “You were all in there. In that,” Theresa said. Her husband came to stand beside her.

  “Oh. No, ma’am,” Buck said. “By the time they were filming that we were long gone. That’s just the beginning of the firestorm.”

  They went silent and watched different reports, most of which were speculation and incorrect. Only those reading directly from the Secrets website were correct. Even then, the reporters attempted to put their own spin on them like putting the splintered pieces of Global together, all wrong.

  He’d risked Ali’s life and six people had risked theirs to help her and him. If their part in this got out, and he had no doubt at some point it would, their careers were trash. Or worse, jail. Military personnel on an unauthorized attack on civilians. Shit. What had he done? The life Honey loved would be gone in a flash. She would never forgive him and they would go their separate ways. What had he done? He would never feel her against him, taste her, take in her sweet scent again. His legs shaking and his breathing ragged, he went to the bed, dropping down on his ass.

  “Dude, you’re corpse gray,” Buck said.

  The doc crouched in front of him. “Dizzy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Double vision?”

  “For a second. I’m okay.” But he wasn’t. He’d lost her.

  “Don’t doubt it. It’s a wonder you’re walking and talking with the beating you took.” He stood. “You need rest. So do you.” The doc looked at Honey. “Everyone out. The talking heads will be giving special reports and complete coverage for days.” He helped Jack to his feet. “You all know the real story and don’t need to watch.”

  “Marines stay,” Honey said with enough authority that the four Marines stood in place as the rest filed out silently.

  Chapter 29

  Honey slept fitfully for a few hours. Her mind was overloaded with yesterday’s events and the ramifications. Finally she tossed back the covers and dressed. She gathered the courage to look in the mirror. Damn. She turned her face side to side. Like Ali said, pitiful. She went down the back stairs to the kitchen, she needed coffee.

  Santiago and Buck sat at the table watching the news channel and stood the moment they saw her.

  “Anything new?” she said on her way to the coffee machine.

  “No. Just rehashing,” Santiago said.

  “The wild speculation has begun,” Buck said. “I think they’ve found the shooter from the grassy knoll.”

  Honey filled a cup and sipped the steaming liquid. “You two have Major Thornton watch?”

  They exchanged sideways glances. “Yes, ma’am,” Santiago said.

  “Okay. Contrary to how I look, I’m good, but I need to get some fresh air. See that gazebo by the pond.” They simultaneously looked out the windows and nodded. “I’m going down there. I want to be alone. You can watch me from the deck.”

  At the gazebo, she sat with her feet on a cushioned bench hugging her legs. A red-winged blackbird flitted in the cattails and other birds she didn’t recognize chased insects over the water. She closed her eyes and let the tiny sounds of nature clear her mind. She’d always thought she could balance what she needed from her Marine Corps life with what was required of her from the family business. No more. Those worlds were on a deadly collision course. If anything was to be salvaged, one had to go. The Marine Corps had been a haven she couldn’t conceive of leaving. Now she didn’t want to go back. Last night she’d crossed the point of no return. Probably crossed it yesterday afternoon when she tased that mofu Moore.

  What she wanted was to stop men like the VP and Moore from using their positions. Fuck that. She wanted to stop them from getting to the positions in the first place. The foundations her father built were designed to do just that. From educational and philanthropic to off-the-charts secret, like the one she’d hooked Coop up with, they were dedicated to stopping international crime and ruthless men. Tomorrow she’d start the process of claiming her board positions. A lot would depend on how fast and clean she separated from the military, what Moore would say and do. His career was over. No doubt he would be allowed to quietly retire. She doubted he would try to take a run at her. There was little he could say or do that wouldn’t implicate himself. There would be a scandal, forgotten in time. Her main concern would be protecting and taking care of Santiago, Gunny, Buck and Coop. Enlisted personnel didn’t fare as well in scandals as staff officers. She would not let them be harmed. They were each within months of reenlistment. Last night she’d offered them jobs and they’d jumped at the chance.

  A door at the house closed. She glanced back and saw Santiago and Buck on the deck, watching Jack coming down the walkway to the gazebo. He limped slightly but looked considerably better than the last time she saw him.

  And then there was Jack. She rubbed her temples. Their worlds certainly had collided, their arrangement disintegrated.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey,” she said.

  He sat on his haunches next to her. “You doing better?” He didn’t look at her, just gazed out on the pond.

  “Yes, are you?”

  “Okay. Like you said, better living through modern chemistry.”

  A breeze carrying the scent of lilacs and cut grass came through and riffled his hair. She stopped herself from reaching out and putting it back in place.

  “A lot of shit’s gone down.”

  She said nothing.

  He picked a twig off the deck and pitched it into the water, watching the rings spread out. “Nice out here.”

  “I like your cabin better.”

  He did look at her. “I have some things to say.”

  Her heart raced and she worked to watched him impassively. “Okay.”

  “Inside, they’re saying your career in the Corps is over. I’m sorry. I know what that life means to you. It was my fault.”

  “What?” She hadn’t expected that. She swung her feet to the floor.

  “If I hadn’t been an arrogant asshole you . . .”

  A fish jumped and smacked the still surface and they glanced to where the water churned.

  “I made the decision to leave. It’s time for me to move on. A lot of things played into it. Things that had nothing to do with you.”

  “Moore one of those things?”

  “Yes.”

  Jack rose, brought a chair over from the table and put it in front of her. “I told you I left the agency because I was sick of the crap and wasn’t interested in fixing the problems. That wasn’t true. I wanted to fix them. I came across an organization who worked to do that. I reached out. They took me on. The contract spy job was a cover.”

  She was surprised. Surprised he told her. His contract with the group had a nondisclosure clause.

  “You don’t seem surprised.”

  She wasn’t surprised now. She’d been flabbergasted when Coop told her he’d received a warning searching Jack’s name on the site she’d put him on. Searching company employees was a violation. In essence, Jack worked for her and now she had to find a way to tell him that wouldn’t shatter their fragile trust. Or did he know? Was he feeling her out to determine if she’d known all along?

  He took her hand and fanned his thumb over the bandage. “Honey.” He blew out a breath as if he was in pain. “I know the group I work for is connected to the Thorn foundations.”

  Well. That was straight and to the point. “How long have you known?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Today. I was never interested in knowing who my bosses were. Only the end result of their efforts.”

  “How did you find out?”

  He gave her a wry smile. “When I pretend to be asleep I hear things. Listening to the chatter inside, knowing what the group I work for does, what the Thorn foundations are rumored to do, it came together.”

  She was instantly relieved knowing he wasn’t upset.

  “Have you known I worked for you all along?”

  “Not until yesterday.”

  A long silence follow
ed.

  “I’m taking Mom and Ali away tomorrow,” he said softly.

  “Why?”

  “The bureau is going to make the connection if they haven’t already. In the event details and identities leak, I want them out of reach.”

  She knew this was the right move but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

  “Your sister overheard me talking to Mom about a safe place and offered us a house in a small town in Florida. Said it was private and no one would bother us. You know it?”

  She nodded. The house was a few miles south of St. Augustine, a beach house on a barrier island with views of the Atlantic on one side and the Intracoastal Waterway on the other.

  “I know you belong to the Marine Corps and have to get things right there.”

  She nodded.

  “Will you be able to insulate them”—he tipped his head in the direction of the house—“if the shit hits the fan? After everything they did for me I’ll do anything to make sure they’ll be okay.”

  “Yes. I’ll use everything I have to protect them. I don’t believe we’ll see a worst-case scenario. Once the story plays out in the media, it will go away. Moore could stir things up,” she said and paused thoughtfully. “I have enough on him to make him think long and hard before he did anything.”

  “Good.” He took her hands. “Now we talk about us.”

  “There’s an . . . us?”

  “Damn straight there is. That is, if you want there to be,” he quickly added.

  “What about our deal?”

  “In the past. This is now. I want to spend the future with you.”

  “Are you sure? This isn’t lust, or post-combat turn-on talking?”

  “Absolutely sure.” He pressed one hand to his lips and kissed the center of her palm. “I don’t want to spend any more time without you. What happened to Lee and Becca . . . I would have . . .”

  She stroked his cheek.

  “Honey, in case I’m not making myself clear. I. Love. You. When I’m with you, I’m different. Better. You know me like no one else. I’ve shared things with you no one else knows. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He paused and his eyes scanned her face.

  She said nothing, wanting to memorize everything about the moment this sexy, complicated man said he loved her.

  “Jeesus. Tell me what you’re thinking. Say something.”

  “I’m thinking all the things you said to me are exactly the things I planned on saying to you. As for saying something, I love you and want to give this forever stuff a shot.”

  He leaned and kissed her. A long, slow, soft kiss. The first of the rest of her life.

  Be sure to pick up the hot, erotic

  short story of how Jack and Honey met,

  No Holding Back,

  available free now!

  While on assignment, the last thing Marine Major Honey Thornton expected was to be called away for a meeting with the acting station chief in Istanbul. Even more surprising was the former CIA operative she met there, the ruggedly handsome and built-to-last Jack O’Brien. When attraction sizzles and the meeting turns out to be a bust, Honey and Jack decide to put their time together to more pleasurable uses.

  Slipping off to Jack’s hotel, the two quickly come to an understanding: no commitments, and no holding back. As the two mesh perfectly and surrender to the intense passion, the only question is whether they’ll stick to the rules of their casual hookup or give in to the deeper connection that sparks between them.

  Keep reading to see the first chapter from

  Under Fire: The Admiral

  by Rita Henuber,

  available now!

  Chapter 1

  Ecuador

  Gemma Hendrickson sank to her knees in the powdery white sand watching Pacific waves crash over a brand-fucking-new million-dollar plane. All her years in the Coast Guard and she’d never had a plane shot from under her. Three days into helping out as a medical mission pilot in Ecuador and she’d been rat-a-tat-tatted out of the sky . . . “Oh, hell.”

  It had happened so fast. She’d seen the trawler in the cove, seen the flashes coming from the 50 cal on the bow, and instinctively attempted an evasive maneuver. It was futile. The Beechcraft was crippled. The best she could do was use air currents coming off the surf to glide as far away from the trawler as possible.

  “Don’t worry about the plane,” Ben Walsh, the doctor she’d been flying to remote villages, said. He used a hand to shield his eyes from the equatorial afternoon sun as he watched the plane sink.

  She wasn’t worried about the plane, she was worried about the men on the trawler coming to finish what they started.

  Walsh put a hand on her shoulder. “I know Sam Carver. He isn’t going to give you grief about crashing.”

  “I didn’t crash. We were hit by gunfire and I had to ditch.” Fine line, but her ego was involved. She shrugged from his touch and damn her shoulder hurt.

  “Yeah,” Walsh said sarcastically.

  She squinted up at him. In the two and a half days they’d spent together she’d learned he was opinionated and a perfectionist used to getting his way. And from what she’d seen, a good doctor who cared about the people he was helping.

  He swiveled his head, looking up and down the pristine coastline. She did the same. No cabanas on the brilliant white sand. No condos jutting from the lush green jungle. Walsh let out a long sigh.

  Gemma pushed to her feet. “I know Sam also. He won’t give a damn about the plane, only that we’re safe.”

  “Sure,” he said dismissively.

  Gemma had made her career dealing with high-stress scenarios and instructing others in the techniques. She’d often found heavy on testosterone men like Walsh tended to try and take charge in stressful situations whether they knew what they were doing or not.

  She began to quantify. Sharing her identity with Walsh could make it easier for him to accept her direction and the next couple of days easier for her. That is, if he believed her. She had no proof. All he knew was she was a pilot volunteering her time. Convincing him she was a United States Coast Guard admiral on leave and the company owners’ mother could be a hard sell. Her passport, her wallet, any and all papers that could identify her to the bad guys were jammed under the pilot’s seat, fifty yards off the beach and thirty feet deep. Besides, Walsh knowing who she was created a different set of issues. The men who shot them out of the sky were not duck hunting. She had every reason to believe that boat belonged to a cartel and would very soon appear on the horizon. Chaos theory—what can go wrong will—prevailed. The go wrong being the men on that boat finding them, at worst killing them, at best taking them hostage to garner a huge ransom. Kidnapping for profit was a cottage industry in this part of the world. One slip on Walsh’s part about who she was would endanger him. If the cartel had a U.S. admiral to bargain with they might not care about keeping him alive. Nope. She wouldn’t tell him unless it was necessary, and she couldn’t conceive of a situation where it would become necessary. Walsh was an unknown factor. All she could do was let it play out and deal as it came. There was always the chance he’d play nice and follow her lead.

  “This makes me rethink my plan to move here permanently,” Walsh said.

  “Yeah, I can see how getting shot at might put a damper on things.” She turned her attention to scanning the blue-green water for any sign of the boat.

  “We should make an SOS in the sand for the rescuers,” he said.

  “I don’t think that’s—” she started.

  “Maybe I can get a signal on my phone now,” Walsh interrupted, bringing his cell out of a soggy pocket.

  Gemma scanned his face. They were in the middle of freaking nowhere and the phone had been swimming. What was he thinking? She tensed. Geesus. They’d been knocked around while the plane bounced and skidded over the water. She had seen a trickle of blood coming from his head as they scrambled out of the plane. Was that bang on the head making him wonky? “You okay, Doc?�
��

  He looked at the phone and made an exasperated sound. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He shook the BlackBerry, flinging water droplets that caught the sun, creating a mini rainbow. “You get so used to having them whenever you want.” He cocked his arm to pitch it into the ocean.

  “Don’t.” Gemma reached out and held his arm. “Never know what we can use.” She also didn’t want anything left behind for the wrong people to use.

  He frowned. She watched him return the instrument to a pocket. She blinked when she saw the way his wet shirt and pants were plastered to his body. Then quickly glanced away when she saw he was a commando kinda guy. She fixed her expression in neutral and busied herself pulling her own wet shirt away from her body and slapping sand off her pants, anything to keep her eyes off him.

  She stopped the exercise in futility and moved so he wouldn’t be in her line of sight, once again scanning the horizon for the boat. “Damn. The glare off the sand and water is wicked.” She folded her arms over her head to shade her eyes, regretting the loss of her Oakley sunglasses to the surf. “We need to get off the beach.” Two vertical objects, them, on the white sand would be easily visible to that boat.

  Walsh looked toward the jungle. “Go into that?”

  “Doc, it’s one”—she pointed her index finger to the sky—“stay in the open and take a chance the men on that trawler appear and finish the job they started, two”—the second finger went up—“go into the water and swim with the sharks, or three”—her thumb joined the party—“in there.” She tipped her head in the direction of the tree line. “I choose . . .” she said and leaned to pick up her pack, “the jungle and out of this blazing sun.”

  Walsh laid a hand on her arm and she jerked away. “I’m getting out of the sun.”

  “You’re cut.”

  She followed his gaze to her shoulder and found a pinkish bloom spreading from a rip in the wet sleeve. “It’s nothing.” But as soon as her adrenaline high vanished she’d feel it and every other bump and bang she’d gotten.