Years of loneliness withered away as their lovemaking turned her bones to rubber and opened up the deep chasm of her soul. Whoever he was, no matter what was to follow next, Trace had brought her from the dead to the living, showing her that it had all been worth it. It mattered not how long it lasted. She’d been found, touched by a man in ways she never knew possible.
She’d be powerless to stop it now. She would forever remain awakened.
CHAPTER 7
He was squeezing her hand so hard on their walk back to the venue, she had to remind him to release her fingers. But she smiled as she said it, and he told her he was sorry if he’d hurt her.
“Don’t want to let you go.”
“I like that,” she said.
Her thigh brushed against his as they approached their group. Her clip had been lost, and her blonde hair was everywhere about her shoulders, framing her pretty face, her flushed cheeks and plump lips he’d not had nearly enough time to explore. His breath had barely returned to normal, but his heartbeat was still rapid, matching her pulse. Her scent had charmed him, making him feel wild with need all over again. If she’d let him, he’d not let her sleep a minute of their time together.
Linda of course picked up on the change in their demeanor. He stood before her not hiding his guilt. The writer’s eyes glistened as she was nearly brought to tears. Gretchen leaned against him and he put his hands possessively on her upper arms, rubbing up and down, wishing he could feel her smooth skin under the blouse. His member was pressing already against her rear.
“Hey, your bride to be was left without a groom on stage, my man,” shouted Fredo when he saw him. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to leave a woman at the altar?”
He didn’t care. They could rib him from now until the flight home. He was the happiest he’d been in two years at least.
“Where’s your shirt, Romeo?” Armando asked him. He too winked at Gretchen. “That was quite a performance, Trace. Way to make a lasting impression on your brothers.”
Trace realized he had to return the white pants and get back his own clothes and flip-flops. Gretchen was working with her hair and tucking it in to make an attractive French twist without her clip. Her cheeks were still pink.
“I have to get my stuff behind stage. Wait for me here,” he whispered.
Trace received praise from the pretty dancers who flirted with him, begging him to return tomorrow night He politely declined. He was handed his clothes in a big plastic bag and shown to the dressing room to change.
When Trace returned to the group, everyone had decided to retire to the bar area. He wrapped his arm around Gretchen’s shoulders and sat for a bit, enjoying the relaxed banter and laughter. More than once he was called out for his dancing skills.
“You should see Amornpan dance, Trace. Gunny left her the gym when he passed,” informed Fredo.
“Really?”
“Sanouk is their son. She teaches some of her Thai dancing at the teen center to some of the neighborhood girls. We got computer classes for these kids too. Working to keep them out of trouble. You’ll have to stop by so you can get involved.”
Trace had heard wonderful things about the project the men on Kyle’s team had done with the old Catholic school.
“Count me in.”
The group decided to call it an early night, so he and Gretchen went with several others in the van. The overcrowded condition made it necessary for her to sit on his lap, which he didn’t mind at all. Linda found one of the single guys to drive the Jeep back.
It became apparent the sleeping arrangements would not allow Trace and Gretchen to have any privacy.
“Maybe we can sneak off tomorrow night,” she whispered to him as she kissed him good night. “Thanks so much for sweeping me off my feet.”
“The pleasure was all mine, Gretchen.” He was at a loss for words.
“What is it, Trace?”
“I feel like I should apologize.”
“For what?”
“Well, coming on too strong. This isn’t who I am. I don’t want you to get a wrong impression of me.”
“You?” She stood before him with her hands on her hips. “What about my reputation?”
“Except you know you don’t have to apologize.”
“Good because I’m not going to. I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to, Trace.”
She sighed and Trace sent her upstairs with a kiss.
He found a game of cards had started in the living room, so he watched it deteriorate until no one could remember anything and the drink caught up to them all. One by one the company left, which gave Trace the chance to bring out his blankets and an extra pillow Libby had retrieved from one of the linen closets. He changed into his red, white and blue pajama bottoms, left his shirt off, and tried to find a comfortable position to fall asleep in. But his feet still hung over the end of the couch, and the ceiling fan was blowing down cold air. He got up to turn the fan off when he saw Gretchen’s form coming down the stairs.
“I can’t sleep. How about you?” she asked.
“Same here.” He looked at her sheer nightgown, which revealed just enough of her body to make her look sexy as hell. But he’d decided to slow things down a bit, to underscore what he’d said earlier. “You cold?”
“A little.” She was rubbing her arms.
Trace pulled one of the blankets over them both and took them outside onto the veranda. There was no view except the stars and the moon trying to shift from behind the large clouds that threatened an early morning rain.
“I got your stars here,” he whispered. Gretchen had tucked herself under his chin.
She didn’t say anything for a bit so he asked her for her thoughts.
“It’s like I’ve stepped back in time.”
He felt the same way. “Those were carefree days. But man, I was a crazy dumb kid, with no clue. Next thing I knew, I was in the Navy, puking my guts out at BUD/S, and then graduating one day and getting married the next. I guess I don’t do anything slow.”
“Do you slow dance?”
“I do.”
They started to move together to sounds of a distant singer calling to them. Her head felt warm against his bare chest. He loved the feel of her back and buttocks under the thin white fabric of her nightgown as his hand lazily traveled over the hills and valleys of this spectacular woman.
“Tell me about your husband. He was a basketball player?”
“Tony Sanders, Center for the Trailblazers.”
“Oh, that basketball player. He’s a hell of an athlete. How come a smart guy like him let you get away? That just doesn’t make any sense.”
“He was my first love. Maybe without all the traveling, it might have worked. But he liked to fool around. I didn’t believe it at first, and then I saw proof. You know what they say, the last to know. That was me.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through all that. My ex was the same way. That sort of behavior doesn’t appeal to me, although you’d never know it, based on tonight.” He squeezed her waist and pressed her to him as she giggled into his chest.
“Did we really do that? Do you suppose anyone saw us?”
“I know they didn’t.”
“How do you know that?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Well, honestly, I don’t, but I thought it sounded good.” He drew her away from him and searched her face. “Does it really matter?”
“No.”
He lifted her chin and kissed her. “I think it was perfect. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
She matched his kiss, her taught nipples searing his flesh beneath her nightie. He lifted the fabric and his fingers rubbed over the satin skin of her buttocks as she pressed her mound into his lower belly.
“Wish I had a king sized bed.”
“Me too.”
“But will the couch do, if I promise to make it up to you?”
“Do you keep all your promises?”
“Always, Gretchen. You’ll le
arn that in time.”
He felt her stiffen at the suggestion of an ongoing relationship. When he brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek she softened when he whispered, “Or, we could just stay out here all night and watch the stars.”
“And you’ll keep me warm?”
“Baby, I’m going to make you so hot you’ll explode.”
CHAPTER 8
Trace awoke to the sounds of someone grinding coffee. She was naked and sweaty, lying on her side with her back to him. His arm was draped possessively over her hip, his hand gently squeezing her breast.
“Morning,” he whispered in her ear.
She slowly turned to face him, their legs entangling again, as she hugged his thigh between hers. “Morning handsome. I’m so grateful you showed me all those wonderful dance moves. The hip action, and the—”
She gasped as his fingers pinched her nipple and he pressed her onto her back and into the couch.
“You want some coffee?” he asked after he’d taken several deep kisses.
“I’d love some.”
He smirked, adjusted his muscled thighs and his other more delicate parts. Bending over, he slipped his pajama bottoms up over his hips and stood.
“Morning ladies.” He gave them a wave. Kate and Libby nearly jumped out of their skins.
“Were you comfortable last night, Trace?” asked Kate.
“Didn’t have enough room, but there were compensating factors.” He walked over to the countertop and poured a cup of black coffee. “Does she like cream in her coffee?” he whispered in Kate’s ear.
“Who?”
“Your beautiful sister.”
She broke out into a wide smile. “She does.” She cleared her throat while Trace foraged in the refrigerator. “Morning sis,” Kate shouted to the living room.
Gretchen answered, “Morning Kate,” from the couch.
When Trace saw her sit up, holding the blanket to her still bare chest, her peach complexion and dazed expression nearly took his breath away.
“I took advantage of her, I’m afraid, Kate,” he whispered as they both studied Gretchen’s face.
“I certainly hope so,” she quipped in return. “Either that or she’s coming down with a fever.”
Trace brought the coffee over to Gretchen, and then helped her slip the nightie over her head. She warmed herself with the steaming mug, took a sip and closed her eyes.
“Coffee’s good, ladies,” Trace reported.
Libby approached. “We’re about to have a whole room full of people here in just a few minutes. Why don’t you two take a shower before all the hot water is gone? The twins are not up yet, so now’s your chance, trust me.”
Trace helped Gretchen fold the blanket and placed it with the other one and the pillow in the hallway closet. They climbed the stairs together and found the sole bathroom door locked.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” Linda said behind the door.
“Trace, you go downstairs and find a shower. I’ll wait until Linda’s done. I’ll meet you back down there for breakfast, okay?”
He reluctantly agreed.
* * *
A CALL from Gretchen’s oldest daughter interrupted their breakfast. Trace watched her worried expression turn into downright fear as she listened to Clover’s sobbing plea for help.
“Clover, calm down. What’s wrong?” Her cool demeanor flared into near panic as she listened to her daughter’s tale. He could not make out all the words until he caught her say, “three men showed up at the school while I was waiting after practice and they took me in a van.”
Kate flew to Gretchen’s side, holding the sleeping baby. The two sisters stared at each other in shock.
“Do they have all three of you?”
“No. Angela and Becky are with Gramma.”
Although Gretchen let out a sigh of relief, she was still very pale and Trace thought she might faint. Then he heard a man’s voice come on the line. Trace grabbed the phone from her hands. Gretchen fell into Kate’s arms and the baby awoke, startled.
“—And we have your oldest daughter. She is safe at the moment,” the man said in heavily accented Spanish, and if you cooperate, all will end well.”
“Who the fuck is this?” Trace asked the stranger.
“Ah, Senor, not necessary to use profanity. This only makes the Indians restless and we’re trying to conduct business here with Mrs. Sanders. You are her spokesperson?”
“Trace Bennett.”
“You are a friend of the family, Trace Bennett? Please put Mrs. Sanders back on the phone. With all due respect, senor.”
Everyone sitting at the large dining table had stopped eating and was staring at the three of them. Tyler took the baby from Kate. Trace covered the mouthpiece and informed them, “They have Gretchen’s daughter.”
The room erupted in soft curses. Cooper stood and placed a call, probably to Kyle, who was still in Washington, D.C. Others called home to check on the safety of their own children. He knew the Team network would be mobilized so that everyone was informed what had occurred, because Gretchen was indeed family.
“Senor? I would like to speak to Mrs. Sanders, please,” the voice repeated.
Gretchen extricated herself from Kate’s embrace and reached for the phone, trying to grab it from Trace’s fingers. He held it just out of reach. Finally she scolded him. “I need to talk to her, Trace. Give me it to me right now!”
He handed it over. His blood was boiling. On his feet, he started pacing, thinking, clenching and unclenching his fists. He was waiting for the cloud of emotions to subside and the clarity of a plan to emerge, but didn’t find any comfort or path. There were too many details he needed to find out. Coop had just finished his call and appeared beside him.
“We get that number and I’ll give it to my NSA contact, Trace,” he whispered.
Trace nodded. “Thanks, man.”
“Where are they?”
“I’m thinking Portland, but not sure.”
Gretchen was still listening to instructions. “H-how much of a little compensation is little?” Gretchen said bitterly, waiting for a response. “But I’m in Hawaii.” She was flustered, stammering. “I have to call my ex-husband. Where have you taken her?”
Trace gently held her arm, adjusting her wrist and hand to expose the phone number on the phone screen, showing it to Coop, then pushed “Speaker” so the whole room could hear the conversation. He double-checked with her, gave her a peck on the cheek, and she nodded her approval. Coop jotted a note and got back on his own phone.
The speaker crackled and squawked, “Like I said, Mrs. Sanders, she is safe and being watched over. She is being fed and given water, so no need to be concerned.”
Gretchen sucked in a breath and boomed right back at the man, “You fuckin’ better take very good care of my daughter you animal!”
Trace was astounded.
The voice on the other end of the phone sighed. “Mrs. Sanders, like I told your friend, the use of profanity is not necessary. It is not our intention to hurt your daughter, Mrs. Sanders. We are looking for just our little transaction fee, and then we will be out of your hair. Your beautiful daughter will be returned to you unharmed and untouched. I give you my word.”
Gretchen’s body tensed as several Team members and their wives swore under their breath and whispered amongst themselves. Trace could see already a plan was being formulated. The distance was a factor, but they were used to four plus hour flights to an op.
Coop whispered to Trace, “Okay, I’m having the phone number traced. You want Libby to get you and Gretchen to Portland? She’s checked and there’s a direct flight at noon you might be able to catch.”
“Thanks, I think that would be a good idea. I’ll pay you back.”
“Not a problem. We can tag along, too, if you want us to.”
“You got the ladies here, Coop. Not fair to have you do this.”
“No, Trace. You don’t understand. Maybe it was different
on Team 8, but on this team we stick together. If you think we’re in the way, we’ll not do it. But I don’t think it’s asking or expecting too much. You’d do the same for me, I know you would.”
Trace nodded, and nodded a brief smile to Libby, who got on her cell phone immediately.
Gretchen’s voice was getting shaky and Trace could tell her emotions were confusing her. “I asked you before, how much? How much for my daughter?”
The voice paused. “One million dollars.”
It might as well have been ten million. Trace suspected this would be an impossible figure to come up with. The room was once again filled with whispered profanity. Gretchen’s breathing was irregular, her chest shaking with each inhale and exhale. He helped her put the phone down on the table, and then folded her in his arms while they listened to the sole voice on the other end of the line.
“I will give you one more chance to speak with your daughter and then we will sign off for now. No tricks, please, Mrs. Sanders. You must keep the girl calm so I don’t have to sedate her.”
Gretchen leaned over the table and shouted into the phone’s speaker, “Don’t you fuckin’ touch a hair on her body! Let me speak to my daughter now!” She braced her body with her palms on the table, took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Just as she was about done with her exhale, she heard her daughter’s voice.
“Mom?” Clover’s weak voice broke Trace’s heart. “I’m scared.”
“Did they hurt you, sweetie?” she asked.
“No. But they’re creepy.” Clover sobbed and then sniffled. In a whisper, she said, “Mom, I’m in my spandex.” Her voice trailed off.
Trace didn’t understand at first what she was saying.
“Didn’t you bring your warm-up suit?”
“Just the jacket, and it’s cold in here.”
Gretchen was holding herself together now. “I know sweetie. Ask them for a blanket or something to wrap around your legs. You have to stay warm.”
“When are you coming to get me?”
It was the question that hung in the air that nobody had an answer for.
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