Mercy: Second Chance Military Romance

by Abbi Hemp

  She grunted, breathing heavily, and squeezed my hand even tighter.

  “We got this,” I said. “Breath.”

  “There’s no we in childbirth!” she said loudly between breaths.

  “Push,” the doctor said. “Concentrate.”

  The miracle of birth unfolded in front of me. It was truly the most miraculous sight ever. Nothing compared to the emotions running through my mind as not one but two baby boys were delivered. They were both healthy if not a bit small. I loved them all the same.

  ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

  An hour later, as Andrea held both our baby boys, I smiled down at her.

  “We still need to come up with names.”

  “We are not going to call either of them Touchdown.”

  “Hey, I was just joking,” I said. “Okay, not really, but I understand. It would suck if Touchdown grew up to hate sports.”

  “So…I was thinking something simple and traditional, like Samuel and Timothy, Sam and Tim.”

  I glanced down at them, so sweet, fresh and innocent.

  “That works for me,” I said.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. They have a nice ring to them.”

  “I love you, Tony.”

  As I stared down at her smiling face, so full of joy, I knew words were meaningless, but I said them anyway.

  “I love you, Andrea, and our whole family.”

  She smiled.

  “We’re a family now. I’m so glad I walked in on you, Tony.”

  “So am I, Andrea. So am I.”

  I bent to kiss her softly on the lips.

  While I wasn’t a betting man anymore, if I had to wager on us making, the odds would suck because the chances were so high of us being together until we grew gray and old. I placed my hand on her arm. The playoff ring that gleamed didn’t compare to the satisfaction and happiness of starting a family.

  “This scene better not make it one of your novels,” I teased.

  “All names will be changed to protect the innocent. Trust me.”

  I trusted her more than any other person on the entire planet.

  Stoned

  ONE

  Heidi

  First Interview

  The smell of expensive leather and wealth hit me as I sat next to Brent Stone in the back of a stretch SUV. I thought about my next question while we headed back from a tour of his new multi-acre grow operation outside of Denver, Colorado.

  “Is your surname really Stone?” I asked.

  He turned to me with a cocksure grin.

  “You’re starting with that?”

  I scribbled “cocky” in my notebook.

  “It’s what everyone wants to know.”

  “Everyone, huh? You too?”

  His sparkling blue eyes were weapons of mass seduction according to what I’d read about him while doing research, but I found it difficult to look away from them.

  “I could care less, to be honest.”

  He’s hot as hell, but definitely not my type.

  “It’s my real last name,” he said.

  “Brent Stone, one of the first multi-millionaires to come out of the legalization of marijuana in Colorado. A nice coincidence for branding purposes.”

  “There are no coincidences in life,” he said gruffly.

  The SUV suddenly accelerated. Brent pressed a button to talk with the driver.

  “What’s up, Keifer?”

  “We’re being followed,” his right hand man’s voice said.

  “Fuck,” Brent growled.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Are you going to cancel the interview again?”

  “No, but we may have some problems.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Problems?”

  “The banks won’t touch my money because of federal drug laws, and I’m carrying about two million in cash with us.” He nodded his head to a safe near the front. “Someone is going to try to take it.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I craned my next to look out the back. “Who are they?”

  “The cartel or local bandits, probably,” he said calmly as he reached under the seat and pulled out a pump-action shotgun.

  “Nice Mossberg,” I noted, my blood flowing more quickly as my heart raced.

  He cocked it.

  “You know your weapons,” he said.

  Before I could try to cover my mistake at blurting out knowledge I probably wouldn’t have as a reporter for High Times, the SUV shook as a pickup truck hit us from the back.

  “Roll your window down,” he shouted to me.

  I hit the button and watched the tinted window lower as the truck behind us – which looked like it had been stolen from the Mad Max movie set – roared and pulled alongside the SUV.

  “Get down,” Brent said, grabbing the back of my neck and pulling me down.

  With my face in his lap, I heard the Mossberg fire. Tires squealed.

  “Let go,” I said in an irritated tone as I struggled to get up.

  The SUV sped forward as Brent moved his hand.

  “Sorry, I had to defend my money.”

  “Don’t ever put your hands on my like that again,” I said.

  “Settle down, Ace. I saved your life. These thugs carry guns too, illegal ones that do real damage.”

  I glared at him, ready to break cover and go off on him.

  “Are you okay?” he asked with concern in his voice.

  After a deep breath, I said, “Yeah. How often do you have to deal with stuff like that?”

  “Pretty often these days. I usually have a security team, but I lost a dozen men to a competitor last week. Guards are in high-demand, and they’re taking advantage of us entrepreneurs.”

  “Is that how you see yourself?” I asked.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? We can reschedule the interview.”

  “No, not again. I finally have you, and I don’t intend on letting you get away until I have what I need.”

  “Yeah?” He focused those brilliant blue eye-beams onto me. “What does a beautiful woman like you need?”

  “To get enough information about the real you to do a half-way decent article.”

  “That’s so boring,” he said.

  “Well, some of us don’t enjoy gunfights on the highway.”

  As he stared at me, I wondered about the real Brent Stone. He had a tough exterior, but I wanted to know more about what made him tick.

  “Again, my apologies. It should make for a hell of an opening to your article.”

  “I guess. Are you going to call the police or just leave them back there?”

  “Keifer called them already. That’s procedure. The way the cartels operate, the truck and people will be gone before anyone arrives. They’re good at guerilla tactics.”

  “Seems you are too.”

  He leaned back stretching those impossibly long legs and crossing one over the other. The brand new blue jeans didn’t fit the millionaire stereotype, but if I’d learned anything about Brent Stone, he was as far from stereotypical as you could get.

  “Yeah, I guess I have to be. It’s a dog eat dog world. You should know that because you’re in the media.”

  I smiled, trying not to break cover.

  “Anyway, we should be okay from here to the warehouse. Keep firing away with your questions.”

  “Funny,” I said, looking down to the notebook in my lap. “What’s next for Brent Stone?”

  With the softball question, I hoped to get him to drop some of his defenses and open up. He turned to me with a grin.

  “Whatever I want.”

  I nodded, the memory of his hand on my neck and my head in his lap making it difficult to think clearly.

  “Fair enough. Do you plan to lobby the government to change existing federal marijuana laws?”

  “Good question,” he said. “I have a lot of money. And as you’ve seen, a lot of people want it. In my mind, Congress is almost as bad as the cartels.”

  I scribbled his quote
on the notebook to keep up appearances.

  “Let me ask you a question,” he said.

  Oh no, I thought. “Go ahead.”

  “How does a beautiful woman like you end up wearing an ugly suit all day?”

  While his attempt at a compliment made part of me feel good, I could easily see through the line he probably used on countless women.

  “How could a rich man like you end up working as a security guard?”

  “Touché.” He grinned again, his flawless teeth battling his blue eyes for my attention. “Are you going to ask me a question for each one I ask you?”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  Wind blew in through the open window next to me, rustling my long red hair.

  “Then we’re going to be talking all night, I guess.”

  “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, for the important questions.”

  “We’re almost to the office,” Keifer said through the intercom, breaking up some of the tension in the air.

  “Do you have any other questions? I have a lot to do today.”

  “That’s all for now,” I said. “Can I contact you if I need something else?”

  “You can contact me for anything you want.”

  He sat up and leaned over, pressing the button to roll up the window. My heart beat faster as his hard, muscled arm brushed against my chest.

  “Excuse me,” he said, sitting back up after the window was up all the way. “I couldn’t stand to see the wind messing up your hair anymore.”

  I smiled. “My curls always manage to bounce right back into place.”

  “You’ve got the whole package.”

  “You hitting on me, Mr. Stone?”

  “Will that help you write a better article about me? Or are you a real journalist?”

  Why would he ask that? Does he know something?”

  “I’m a real journalist,” I said. “But I don’t see this coming out as a bad article.”

  “Great. I can’t wait to read it.”

  You’re going to be waiting a long time, I thought, knowing the article would never be written.

  The SUV stopped. I opened the door then climbed out.

  “I might call you soon,” I said, peering through the doorway.

  “I’d love if you did,” he said. “Have a great afternoon.”

  “You too, Mr. Stone.”

  “Call me Brent.”

  “Will do, Mr. Stone.”

  I smiled and closed the door before he could flirt anymore. Even if he wasn’t potentially a bad guy working with the Mexican cartels, I would never go for someone as full of himself as Brent Stone, even with his hard body and handsome, chiseled face.

  When I reached my car in his parking lot, I stared up at the thirteen-story office building he’d erected a year before. According to the records I’d found, he had paid cash for the whole thing. Even with marijuana legalized for recreational use, he had to be doing something illegal to get that much money.

  TWO

  Heidi

  Back at DEA HQ

  Later that afternoon, I headed back to the local DEA office in Denver to talk to my boss, Joseph Keller. While I’d only been with the agency for nineteen months, they tended to give me difficult cases. I wasn’t sure if it was because they were testing me or because of my father, but either way, I didn’t care.

  No matter what they threw at me, I would take it. Working for the DEA had not been my childhood dream, but in college I’d decided to be the exact opposite of my father, a marijuana grower. He had a legal job finally, but I still hated him for my lack of a childhood.

  I headed down the hallway to Keller’s office, wondering why he wanted to see me. After my interview with Brent Stone, I’d prepared a report during lunch then emailed it to him. He hadn’t called me to his office in a while, so something had to be up.

  When I reached his door, I stopped and knocked once on the polished wood.

  “Come in,” he said from the other side.

  Due to budget cuts, his level of management had lost their secretaries.

  I opened the door and walked in with my head held high, proud of the job I’d done.

  “Have a seat,” he said, his head bent down as he read something on his desk.

  After sitting down, I straightened my posture, not wanting to appear weak in front of him. As a woman, I had to work three times as hard as the men in the agency. I had left out the bit about him forcing my head to his lap while protecting me, but everything else was in the two-page report.

  As I waited for him to finish reading, I hoped he would assign me to another case. We had no proof Brent Stone had broken laws to get where he was in the legal marijuana game, and I didn’t feel good about harassing him. He might be an asshole, but he deserved his privacy.

  Local and federal laws were confusing to many, even me, but our orders were to leave the growers, dealers, and distributors in Colorado alone as long as they were not working with the cartels. Joseph look up, his ever serious face not disappointing me.

  “I heard about the gunfight,” he said, shaking his head. “The cartels are going crazy because they’re going to lose so much money with the legalization of marijuana. Could he have staged the whole event to throw you off his scent?”

  “No. He’s not that smart.”

  “He must be some kind of smart if he’s gotten this rich so quickly.”

  “It’s the Golden Age of Marijuana, sir. A lot of people are getting wealthy.”

  “How’s your father doing?” he asked, always quick to change the subject.

  “He’s fine. Same as usual. Is the report okay?”

  “I don’t see any problems on the first read,” he said.

  “Does this mean you can move me to something else? I’d like to build a case against Juan and the cartels still trying to operate here in Colorado.”

  “I know you would, but we have other priorities. The brass is saying that Brent Stone is dirty as a mud-caked hippie. I want you to continue digging and see if you can come up with something. Tell him you need more material for the article or something. Feed on his ego. You know how to do your job.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “Anything else?”

  “Keep me in the loop. If he goes down, I need to make sure our agency gets the most credit so we get the most funding next year.”

  I nodded then stood.

  “Be safe out there, Heidi,” he said, bending his head to his desk.

  “Yes, sir.”

  On the way out, I wondered about Brent Stone. After interviewing him in person, my instincts pointed to his being innocent. I hadn’t been able to dig up anything untoward when investigating him, but I would keep going. If Keller thought there was something, I might be wrong. It had happened before. Once.

  Before heading home, I went down a floor to talk with Ron Glass. He worked a lot of the cartel cases, and I figured he might know what had happened earlier in the day while I was riding with Brent Stone. If nothing else, he’d have a story that made me laugh. Of all the other agents, him and I thought alike.

  As I approached his cubicle, I saw his thick, brown curls above the chest high wall as he sat at a desk. He was on the phone when I reached him, so I pulled out an empty office chair at the desk next to him and took a seat to wait. I nodded as he lifted his index finger in the air.

  “Yeah, but does she have what it takes?” he asked then paused. “I’ll take that any day.”

  He laughed as he sat up and scooted closer to his desk.

  “I’ll talk to you later. Bye-bye.”

  “How was your day?” I asked after he hung up the phone.

  “Not bad,” he replied, swiveling in his chair to face me. “What about you?”

  “Same old, same old.”

  “How’s the Stone case coming?”

  “Cold as an Eskimo’s bottom in February,” I said, smiling.

  While Ron was older than me by five years, he still looked good at th
irty-four years old. His body was not in nearly as good shape as Brent Stone’s, but after so many losers, I’d become determined not to judge a man by his looks alone. I would try at least.

  “I’m on my way out,” he said. “Did you need something?”

  “Not really, I guess.” Be strong! “If you hear anything connecting Brent Stone to the cartels, would you let me know?”

  “Of course. You think there’s a connection?”

  “I don’t, but Keller wants me to keep digging.”

  He chuckled.

  “Stone must have pissed someone off.”

  “That wouldn’t surprise me,” I said. “He’s a bit of a dick.”

  “Just a bit?”

  “Okay, a lot,” I admitted then smiled.

  Ron stood up and slipped his phone into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

  “I have to get out of here, but we should do lunch or something soon.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I’m on my way home too.”

  To be alone, I added in my mind.

  “You take care.”

  “You too.”

  I waved like a complete dork. Ron grinned then turned and left my sitting there like an idiot.

  Why do I even try? I asked myself as I got up.

  On the way to my car outside, I thought about the last five men I’d dated – all losers in one way or another. Some had the honor of being horrible in more than one way, but none of them had been boyfriend material. My phone rang right after I climbed in behind the steering wheel.

  THREE

  Brent

  Find the Grower

  I leaned back and put my hands behind my head as I lifted my feet to the desk. Keifer sat in an armchair across from me and took a drag off a thin, black vaporizer pen. A cloud of vapor poured into the air a moment later.