Remember the Night: a Heroes of the Night military romance novel

by Nicole Leiren

  A date! Sitting up straighter, he ran his thumb over the date on Evelyn's picture. He always signed and dated his work. Which meant…he could prove the image he drew for his sister was created after leaving the employ of Alpha Design. He still didn't know if Mega Music was a client of Alpha's or how they came to have possession of his work, but one problem at a time, right?

  He needed to see if his sister still had the original artwork. He lifted a small prayer toward heaven that not only did she have it but also that his grief over Jerry's death hadn't prompted him to break from his norm and not sign and date this particular piece. With the exception of the sketch of Evelyn, the only other creative work he'd done after Jerry's death had been this piece for his sister. His creative and protective instincts merged. He needed to find a way to prove what he knew to be true.

  Though it was crazy and even though he knew Evelyn would assign him to the stalker category, he opened a text message on his phone and typed. "Ev, may have way to prove artwork is mine. Heading to my sister's. Cell coverage sucks there. Call when I get back."

  He stopped short of finishing with, "Love, Cody." Instead, he simply used his trademark signature—the one he hoped would get him and his sister out of this mess. CJ. Since it was the middle of the night, he didn't expect her to respond. Not that she would anyway. It was still the workweek, and as she reminded him, she was a busy woman. Regardless, he'd kept his attorney up to speed. He could check that detail off his list, at least.

  Once his legal problems went away then, and only then, could he start rebuilding all the other pieces of his life. With one last glance at Evelyn's image, he hoped that meant finding his creative mojo again. With a sigh and a smile, he also hoped his future included the warm-bodied version of the woman he'd just tucked away in her sacred place between the pages of his sketchpad.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  "Thank God, it's Friday." Evelyn smiled at the statement from one of her coworkers. A colleague who, no doubt, had grand plans for fun or family time over the two-day sabbatical granted most of the working class each week. For her, though, Friday this week only meant two more working days until the new week started. Since she'd had the boys in Mexico with her for a week, Nathan was taking them for some quality time with Dad over the weekend. Just as well, she had a lot of work to do and not enough hours in the day to do it.

  With the boys busy and no word from Cody since his brief text on Wednesday, she had zero excuses for not burying herself in the mounds and mounds of files and casework awaiting her. Why did that sole thought depress her beyond belief? Up until recently, the thought of two days practically alone in the office being highly productive brought her a great deal of satisfaction. Now? Only sadness. Cody's statement and question about her working to stay on top of the proverbial totem pole burned in her ears for the last two nights. Sounds like a vicious cycle. Is it worth it?

  She stared at the foot-high stack of file folders awaiting her attention. If she remained diligent, she might get through this stack by seven or eight tonight. At a recent required management seminar, she'd learned about the carrot versus the stick motivational methods. Punishment or reward as an incentive. Promising herself a glass of her favorite wine and takeout from the Indian restaurant not far from her home if she managed to transform the work from the "to-do" pile to the "to-done" category provided enough "carrot" to pull the first file down and open it.

  Besides, she'd beaten herself over the head with the stick far too often in her life. Maybe Cody's implication that this rat race was no longer worth it had merit. She'd made it to the top, but what had that gotten her? Financial security, yes. Her mother's approval, yes. Status and respect in her firm, originally. But once old and grey, would all of that be enough?

  Lowering her head, she started reviewing the information to determine the next step to winning the case in front of her. It sure as hell beat admitting to herself that, despite everything she wanted to believe…all of this was…not enough.

  Two hours and one stiff neck later, Evelyn filed away the last folder. Done! Rolling her head to stretch and relieve the tense muscles in her neck and shoulders, she exhaled a sigh of relief. Finished by seven in the evening. Not bad. She'd have forty minutes to catch her train, which would put her in Naperville a little after eight thirty. A stop by the restaurant to pick up the order she'd call in from the train and the wine and spicy food would be all hers by nine. The food would prompt pleasant thoughts of her time in India with Cody, and if she was lucky, sweet dreams would carry her through till morning and time to do it all over again. Not much of a life, but for now, it was all hers. No apologies. No regrets. Right?

  Union Station, a seven block walk from her office, normally took around fifteen to twenty minutes during normal commute time. The throngs of people heading home during rush hour, along with traffic, slowed her progress on normal days. Leaving at seven, though, she hoped that meant most people were already home. When she stepped outside, the sun hung low in the sky and cast eerie shadows on the streets. A quick check of her normal route to the station revealed massive crowds of people. Not wanting to elbow her way through the mass of bodies, she turned off Wacker to a less-travelled route. She typically avoided this area as it required she cross in front of some less-than-friendly looking alleys, especially this time in the evening. The carrot of dinner and wine she'd promised herself beckoned, dangling just out of reach. She needed to make that train.

  Walk with purpose—that was the plan. Confident strides, purse held close, and tight grip on her briefcase. Never appear as the easy target. All good reminders from the safety and self-defense class she'd taken when she first started working in the city. As sounds and shadows stretched before her, she resisted the urge to swivel her head and follow their lead. Five more blocks.

  She'd managed one more when the hair on the back of her neck went rigid. Something wasn't right. Keen hearing picked up the sound of soft footsteps coming from the direction of the alley. Quickly, she shifted closer to the road. The footfalls hesitated for only a second before gaining speed. A moment later, adrenaline surged as one large hand grabbed the straps of her purse while the other pushed hard at her back. Her heels were no match for this balance test, and she face planted into the unforgiving concrete. A brief rational thought prompted her to try to keep her purse close, but the socket of her shoulder yielded against the strength of her attacker. With brute force, the designer bag was ripped from her grasp, sending shards of pain radiating through her body.

  Hell no! This couldn't be happening. The footsteps resumed, away from her this time. Despite the throbbing pain in her limbs, she found vertical again and took off after the perp who had her purse. "Hey, come back!"

  She didn't really think he would but hoped he'd at least turn to see her chasing him. She'd need something for the sketch artist to make sure this bastard paid for picking her as his target. All the hours on the treadmill paid off, and even in heels, she offered enough pursuit to cause the thief to quickly turn and look at her. Five foot eight inches. Dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Faded jeans and Blackhawks hoodie.

  A block later, her purse had been discarded. She scooped it up and continued pursuit, though his tennis shoes and youth were widening the gap between them. Another block and the wallet landed on the pavement in her path. Enough. She stopped in front of the wallet and checked the contents. All the credit cards, her license, and even the train ticket were still there. He'd taken the cash and ran. The end of the workweek meant the delinquent had gone through all these efforts for a little over twenty-five bucks. She started each week with a hundred and used the cash for cabs, lunch, coffee, etcetera.

  The high of the chase and return of her possessions, less some pocket change, drained from her body, returning it to a painful state. Her cheek, knees, arms…hell, her whole body throbbed. Forget the train. She'd use one of her rescued cards to hail a cab and take her straight home.

  An hour later, she'd procured the promised glass of wi
ne and settled into a warm tub of lavender bubbles. The bumps and bruises would heal, but the bash to her emotional state—not as quickly. Gingerly she touched her cheek. The scrapes from the concrete still tingled with displeasure. She needed to call the police, but exhaustion tugged at every fiber of her being. Filing the report, answering questions, and all the other hassles required to report someone else's mistake didn't rank high on her to-do list for tonight. Tomorrow was another day.

  "Damn it all." The loneliness seeped into the cracks in her defenses now widened by the attack. Though glad the boys weren't here to see her in this state, she longed for someone over the age of thirty to hold her, kiss her cheek, and tell her everything would be all right.

  As if on cue with her thoughts, her cell phone on the stand next to the tub vibrated. It wouldn't be the boys. She'd texted them a little while ago and said good night. Drying her hands off, she checked caller ID. Cody. She closed her eyes, inhaled and exhaled, and fought to contain the trembling in her fingers as she pressed the answer button. "Hello?"

  "Hey, Ev. Whatcha doing?" The smooth, rich tones of his voice washed over her skin, providing a soothing balm.

  The frightened woman, deep inside, longed for Cody to be here holding her, reassuring and comforting.

  "Taking a bath. You?" Did her voice sound steady? No, not really.

  "Damn, woman. Way to get a guy going after two days of not being able to talk to you."

  "Your sister doesn't own a phone?" Her voice wavered. She needed to stay strong and keep him from asking any questions.

  "She does, but the kind of conversations I wanted to have with you wouldn't be appropriate for her ears."

  "Okay." She brought the glass to her lips. A little liquid courage couldn't hurt in her effort to keep it together for this phone call.

  "Okay? That's all you've got for me? I was looking forward to a little tongue lashing since that's the closest I can get to that amazing tongue of yours tonight."

  Exhaustion settled heavily into her limbs. She needed some more wine and then sleep. "That's all I've got for you."

  A pause, maybe five to ten seconds elapsed before he spoke. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing." Not even remotely convincing.

  "Bullshit."

  "Cody, please. Can we talk tomorrow? I'm very tired. It's been a long day."

  "Sure, no problem. Get some rest. I'll check in on you soon."

  Soon wouldn't come soon enough, but she was a mess and needed time to pull herself together. "Thanks for calling. I always love hearing your voice."

  He chuckled, "I could always make a recording for you. That way you could listen anytime you want."

  Despite the pain it brought to her cheek, she smiled. "I'll let you know. Have a good night."

  "You too, Ev."

  With the conversation over, a wave of emptiness crashed over her heart. Maybe John Donne had it right. No man, or woman in this case, was an island. The question was could she change a lifetime of being self-sufficient and let someone—let Cody—in?

  * * *

  Cody pulled off to the side of the road and stared at the phone for a full minute before making his decision. He might not know everything about Evelyn, but he knew enough. He'd devoted countless hours to thinking about her, analyzing her actions, motives, and attitudes about life. He grinned. Yeah, definitely stalker-like tendencies. He generally respected her boundaries, but not this time. Everything inside told him she needed him. What the lady needed, he'd move heaven and earth to give her.

  Hitting speed dial, he waited until Daniel picked up. "Hey, Babyface, what's going on?"

  "I need Evelyn's address, and before you start lecturing me, teasing me, or delivering any of your other usual crap, I'm not in the mood."

  "I should check with Mel before giving out Ev's address. I don't know how she feels about her privacy, but I'm guessing it's pretty high on her list."

  He understood Daniel's hesitation, but this was an emergency. "Look, don't be a pussy and check with the missus. Brother to brother, you need to trust me when I tell you I just spoke to Evelyn on the phone, and something is off. I don't want to worry Mel. Just give me the damn address already." Normally, he didn't go straight for the jugular and dispense with all niceties, but he knew calling Daniel his brother, a kinship formed in the throes of war, would get him what he needed.

  "All right, man, no need to name call. I'll text you the address. If this hits the fan, though…"

  "I'll take the flack and heat for both of us."

  "You'll let me know if something is wrong and Mel needs to be involved?"

  "You have my word."

  "Hoo-ah."

  "Hoo-ah." Cody cut the connection and waited for the text. Thank God for technology that let him click her address and open it in maps with one touch. Thirty seconds later, he headed in her direction. "Hold on, Ev. I'm coming."

  Less than an hour later, he stood in front of a home that belonged on the cover of a magazine. Spotlights shone from perfectly trimmed hedges onto the stately brick two-story structure. He couldn't be sure, but the shutters appeared to be a dark red, matching one of the colors of the bricks. Almost as intimidating as the woman who lived behind the walls. He pressed the doorbell and waited.

  A whole minute went by—nothing. He pressed again—still nothing. Damn it all. He'd come all this way. He wasn't leaving without seeing her. He made a fist and started pounding on the door. If she had a silent security system, the police were probably on their way now. Pretty sure Uncle Sam would frown on a disorderly conduct or disturbing the peace charge from the local PD. Not what he needed right now.

  Finally, after an eternity or two had passed, the door flung open, and the very angry woman of the house greeted him. "What the hell…"

  Recognition finally registered, thank God. The anger drained from her expression, replaced by surprise. "Cody? What? I thought you were in Wisconsin."

  One look at her face… If someone had hit her, the police would be arresting him for far more than disorderly conduct when he caught the son of a bitch. Sweet Jesus in heaven, he needed to hold her. She'd pulled her hair into a loose ponytail and covered those long, gorgeous legs with yoga pants, but the shirt she wore captured his entire attention. Not just any shirt…his shirt. She'd been upset and worn his shirt for comfort.

  Want no more, sweetheart. The real thing is here. "I was. Now I'm not. I called you halfway to Daniel and Mel's apartment."

  "Why did you come? I told you we'd talk tomorrow."

  He leaned against the doorframe, hoping she'd invite him in soon. "You also told me you were just tired." He reached out and gently brushed the bruise on her cheek with the back of his fingers. "Looks like more than exhaustion went a round in the ring with you tonight."

  "First baseball analogies and now boxing? Honestly, why can't men just say what they mean?"

  Not waiting for an invitation any longer, he stepped through the threshold and scooped her into his arms. Surprisingly, she didn't protest. He kicked the door shut behind them and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. "Because then we wouldn't be men."

  The precious package in his arms made a noise resembling a cross between a chuckle and a sob. Her arms tightened around his neck, and she snuggled in closer. Thankfully, being around a sister for many years, he remembered her yelling at him that sometimes girls just needed to cry and get it out of their system. They didn't need a man to "fix" everything, just hold them and listen. She might have been his little sister, but when it came to understanding women, he deferred to her judgement.

  He sat in the overstuffed chair and pulled Evelyn closer, alternating between tender kisses on her hair and forehead and whispering nonsensical reassurances. He waited as she worked through the emotions of the day, perhaps even more. Finally, her warm breath exhaled across his chest.

  She lifted her head. "I must look a mess."

  Cupping her cheek before running his fingers along her hairline and through the ponytail, he kissed her gently
on the lips and whispered, "You're beautiful."

  A small smile. "Liar."

  With gentle fingers, he touched the bruise and scratches on her cheek. "I never lie. What happened?"

  Evelyn sat up straighter, still on his lap but creating some distance. "It was nothing."

  "Who's the liar now?"

  Her mouth opened and then closed. Good thing she didn't try the "I never lie" line on him. "I was mugged on my way to the train station earlier tonight."

  His arms tightened, pulling her close again. "That's definitely something, young lady. Did they catch the bastard?"

  She turned slightly in his embrace, blue eyes firing with emotion. "I almost caught him."

  "You did?"

  She smiled. "After he knocked me down and grabbed my purse, I found my footing and took off after him."

  He didn't know whether to high-five her or shake her. "Are you insane? What if he had a gun or a knife?"

  Her head cocked to the side. "If he'd had a gun or a knife, he would've used it when he first approached me rather than knocking me down and snatching my purse."

  The woman had a point. "You're still crazy for chasing him. Everything in that purse could've been replaced, including the purse itself."

  "You're right, but I was annoyed he'd been able to surprise me, and…" She snuggled in close again. "I really love that purse."

  He chuckled. "Forget war. You might be the death of me yet."

  "I'm sorry you had to come all the way down here and find me like this."

  "Find you like what?" Good to know her inability to admit weakness hadn't changed.

  "Can we not talk about this? You're here. I'm feeling better at the moment. Can't we just…be?"