by Jolie Day
“Made even lovelier by your talent, I’m certain,” Mr. Sagawa nodded. “This is simply breathtaking, Miss Elizabeth. You have more, you say?”
“Yes,” Liz assured him. “About a dozen more in the collection.”
“I would like them all to hang in my gallery,” Mr. Sagawa said. “I will pay you handsomely for them and, with your permission, we will sell prints to anybody that wants them.”
“I’ll have to talk to my subject about that,” Liz said, “but I’m sure it won’t be an issue at all. Thank you, Mr. Sagawa.”
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth,” he responded. He bowed his head. “I will email you with all the details. Have a pleasant evening.”
“Have a wonderful day,” Liz replied, before signing off and closing her laptop. As soon as she was alone again, she let the tears of her frustration fall. She didn’t allow them to fall for long, but while they did, she felt at peace.
*****
When Carter finally checked his phone, he saw that all the missed calls were, as he had guessed, not from Liz at all, but from his “boss”. He still didn’t know the man’s real name, but he was known as Mal.
Bad.
And he was. Bad. Evil, even. And so many more things that sent shivers down Carter’s spine when he remembered the things he had been hired to do since going on leave. He didn’t even really remembered how he got all mixed up in this business, but he was already in too deep; finding his way out would be like climbing out of a coffin underground.
Impossible and almost pointless.
Mal had connections everywhere. Even in the military. His gang—the Hell’s Seven—had started with just seven men; Mal and six of his friends. Mal was the only original Seven left standing. None of the others even had a pulse.
A chill ran down his spine when he opened up the phone and found several missed texts and calls from Mal’s main lackey, Grub. While a much less appetizing name, Grub was appropriate for the portly little fellow. He was as simple and submissive as they came and he would do pretty much anything for Mal, despite being treated like less than shit.
There were twenty calls in total, and just three texts.
If you won’t answer, just know that you have another job tonight.
Boss says don’t be late. Or else.
The third text was an address and a time. Looking at the clock, Carter sighed; he had about two hours to get there. He might as well head out now.
He dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a wife beater, then shrugged on his leather jacket with the Hell’s Seven symbol on the back. He didn’t usually like to wear it out in public, but he was feeling a little more dangerous tonight. Besides, the cops didn’t dare pull over a biker from the Hell’s Seven.
He was about to leave the apartment when he realized that his dog tags were still hanging around his neck. It had become almost a habit to put them on as soon as he got out of a shower, but he’d rather Mal not know any more about his life than absolutely necessary.
He removed the tags and laid them down on the counter, running his finger over the raised lettering. Then he turned and walked out the door.
*****
Liz was standing in the elevator when it opened on Carter’s floor and both pairs of eyes widened upon seeing one another.
“Oh,” Liz said. “You’re hair…” She felt her stomach flutter at the shortened and slightly shaved locks. There was still some of the old hair gelled and hanging over his left eye, but the rest of it was cut down to about an inch. It looked good. She shook her head and cleared her throat. “Are you going out?”
“Yeah,” Carter retorted, a bit too quickly, as he moved so as not to reveal his back to her. He didn’t want Liz knowing about the gang. She might start asking too many questions and get herself in trouble. “Where are you going?”
“Oh.” Liz flushed this time and scratched the back of her neck, holding up her phone. “I was actually coming to see you. I had a question.”
“Had?” Carter asked. “You don’t have one anymore? Did you lose it?” He gave her a small grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes, but she laughed anyway and nudged his shoulder.
“Shut up,” she said. “You know what I meant.”
“I don’t think I do, actually,” Carter teased, poking her in the side. Liz giggled and nudged him again, her heart glowing with love and affection for this man beside her.
“I have a question,” she corrected. “Happy?”
“Depends,” Carter replied. “What’s your question?” Liz bit her lip and he narrowed his eyes. “Morgan, what is it?”
“Oh great, you’re using my last name,” she sighed. “We’re off to a great start.”
“Liz…” She looked up at him to find the intensity of his gaze on hers. “What is it?”
Liz looked down at her cell phone and tinkered with it for a second, before holding it up for Carter to see. “Do you remember this photograph?” she asked.
Carter only had to study it for a moment, before he nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s me in bed. It’s one of those surprise ones you took, just after we…” He grinned and Liz flushed.
“Candid,” she corrected gently. “But yes. That’s one of those. I intend it to be the cover of my Navy SEAL collection. With your permission, of course.”
“Why do you need my permission?” Carter asked. “Didn’t I already sign a contract?”
“Yes,” Liz hedged, “but I’d hate to publish anything you wouldn’t be okay with, you know?”
“I guess so?” Carter replied. “But, really? I’m cool with it.”
The elevator chimed as they arrived at the lobby and Carter turned, backing out of the elevator as he kept his eyes locked with Liz’s. “Publish it,” he said. “Just don’t forget to give credit where it’s due.” He winked at her as the doors closed and Liz sighed as she sagged against the wall of the elevator.
Carter’s smile fell outside the elevator and he popped the leather collar, turning and making his way out to his bike, ready to start another night of work.
Chapter Ten
Liz booked her flight the second she got the email from Mr. Sagawa. She would meet his daughter, Chiaki, there to do an early-morning photoshoot of her baby boy and then she would spend the rest of the day in her hotel room until it was time to dress and get ready for the opening of the gallery. It was still a couple of weeks, but Liz was the kind of person to plan things way in advance.
Well, most things.
She hadn’t planned on falling in love with a Navy SEAL on leave, or for him to be the subject of her next big project or for that project to be immediately showcased in the gallery of her father’s most trusted and well-liked client (his very wealthy client). But life worked in mysterious ways and, sometimes, it was better to be surprised.
But not this time.
It had been two days since the last time she and Carter spoke and he refused to answer when she called, texted, or knocked on his door. So she stopped and decided to wait until he came to her. She wondered how long it would be until he did so.
If he did so.
Liz had always been the one to contact him first. She would ask him to come to her apartment or to meet him for lunch. Or she would take the stairs to his place and knock on his door undressing him all the way to the bedroom.
Sometimes, though, they would just enjoy each other’s company. They would watch a movie or cuddle in bed or just…be. No sex or even conversation. It was at those moments that Liz thought they might be able to be something more. Something real and permanent.
Nothing in her life had ever really been permanent.
And nothing still was.
She considered selling the apartment as she planned for her trip to San Francisco. Maybe she could set up there and open up her own gallery. She had more than enough money to do so and it would be nice to see some of the local artwork up there. She could help a few starving artists that were born without the privilege and wealth she’d had growing up. She could pay
it forward, as her mother had always been fond of saying. And what, really, did she have tethering her to Los Angeles?
A couple of clients vying for photographs of “landmarks”? That wasn’t what she wanted to do, was it? At least in San Francisco, she could take photographs of bridges and piers and do some of the stuff that her father had done. Maybe she’d even find a few more models, as Mr. Sagawa seemed fond of what she had done with…with Him.
Even saying his name right now hurt, as the prospect of moving away and never seeing him again caused an ache to vibrate throughout her entire body. She tried to ignore it as she made her travel plans and weighed the option of listing the apartment online or searching for a realtor. She could list it fully-furnished and start over, completely, in San Fran.
Or she could stay and wait for a man that might never come back for her. And he wasn’t even really gone yet.
Or was he?
Without warning, Liz stood and slipped on her flip flops, then started out the door. She took the steps two at a time until she reached Carter’s apartment. Her heart nearly beat out of her chest when she saw the door ajar and a bloody handprint on the doorjamb. Tears began to fall down her cheeks as she walked closer, careful not to touch anything with her hands. She kneed open the door and stepped inside.
Several of the pictures on his walls were knocked askew and books were knocked off the shelves. There was a trail of blood drops on the floor, leading her straight toward the bedroom. When she got there, she nearly screamed at the sight that met her.
Carter was sprawled across the bed, lying on his back with one hand over a still-bleeding wound. He had cuts all over his arms and neck and face. Both of his eyes were black and his knuckles were red and raw. When she got closer, she could hear him groaning and she almost sagged in relief at the sound, tugging her phone out of her pocket to dial 9-1-1.
“Liz…” Carter croaked, surprising her. She hadn’t even realized that his eyes were open and he was staring straight at her. She stepped forward and took his free hand.
“I’m here,” she said. “Just stay with me. Help is going to get here in a—Yes! Hi. My name is Elizabeth Morgan and I’d like to report a home invasion. Not mine. My...neighbor’s. Yes, he lives at…”
Carter passed out before she could even finish rattling off his address and Liz’s hands pressed over his, keeping him from bleeding out until the paramedics arrived.
*****
When Carter came to, the ceiling above him was a blinding white and he groaned, closing his eyes again. “Shit,” he croaked. “Get that light out of my face.”
“Oh,” Liz said. “Sorry.” The light behind his eyelids dimmed and when he opened his eyes again, the room was a medium blue tint. Not much better than the blackness of his mind, but better than before by a long shot. “How are you feeling?” he heard his…Liz ask. “Do you need water?”
“That would be just dandy,” Carter grunted. He felt a straw against his lips a second later and he sipped greedily from the glass that Liz was holding up for him. He took a deep breath that pained him as he glanced around the room. He could barely move his head without feeling like there was water sloshing around in his skull. “Where am I?” he asked.
“The hospital,” Liz informed him.
“What? Why?” Carter demanded, weakly.
“You were bleeding,” Liz huffed. “You had been stabbed. What else was I supposed to do?”
“Let me handle it?”
“You passed out ten seconds after I got there,” Liz pointed out.
“And it’s a lucky thing that you got there when you did, Miss Morgan,” another voice said and Carter turned his head with a sharp curse as an even sharper pain ran down his spine. A woman in a white lab coat stood before them, her long red hair braided and thrown over her shoulder. Her name tag read “Doctor Hartmann”. She held a clipboard and her face was not unattractive, but there was a noticeable scar under her left eye. “Ten minutes later and the paramedics might not have been able to resuscitate you.”
“It must be fate then, huh?” Carter joked, grinning up at Liz, who held his hand. She brought his fingers up to her lips and kissed them.
“This is serious, Lieutenant McIntyre,” Dr. Hartmann said, a look of disapproval on her face. “You almost died last night. You’re still not completely out of the woods with all your injuries yet. The next few weeks are going to be painful.”
“Painful?” Carter asked. “It’s just a stab wound. I’ve had worse before. I’m sure Liz has told you that I’m a Navy SEAL, right?”
“She did,” Dr. Hartmann confirmed, “but that doesn’t change my diagnosis.” She opened up the chart in her hands. “You were hit directly in the liver,” she informed him. “Part of it had to be removed to avoid infection so it will be healing and growing back over the next few weeks, which will be painful on its own. Not to mention the fact that you can’t have prescription pain killers…”
“I can’t what?” Carter asked. “Why not?”
“Because all toxins in your body have to be filtered through the liver,” she explained. “And, as yours isn’t working correctly, I’m afraid I can’t prescribe you anything stronger than ibuprofen. No alcohol, either.”
“He’s not a big drinker, anyway,” Liz supplied. “I’ll make sure he sticks to the regiment, doctor.”
“Thank you, Miss Morgan,” Dr. Hartmann said, with a fond smile. “Also make sure he gets plenty of bedrest for the first couple of days.”
Before Liz could agree to that, too, Carter interrupted. “How will this affect my ability to serve in the Navy?” he asked. “I’m supposed to be going back in for another deployment in just a few months.”
“We’ll see how physical therapy goes,” the doctor said.
“Physical therapy?” Carter growled. “Seriously?”
“Just a week’s worth. Mostly to make sure that everything is in order and you can perform all physical activities to your full ability,” she said. “If so, I should have no problem signing off on your physical fitness. Your mental fitness is a different matter, altogether. I understand you suffer from PTSD?”
“I don’t suffer from it,” Carter huffed. “I have it. I’m not even on medication.”
“But you are in therapy, are you not?”
“I am,” he admitted, begrudgingly, at Liz’s insistence. “What of it?”
“Well, I’m sorry for your loss,” Dr. Hartmann said, solemnly. “I knew Dr. Maxwell. My uncle served with him in Vietnam.” A shadow fell over her face and Carter remembered a story about Dr. Maxwell’s platoon; about how the majority of them had died in a single battle. If he had to chance a guess, he would have said that Dr. Hartmann’s uncle was part of that majority. “But you’ve been assigned a new psychologist,” she went on, clearing her throat. “You missed your first session with him yesterday.” She raised a disapproving eyebrow. “Why?”
“Are you a cop or something?”
“Lieutenant.” Her voice was firm and he grunted.
“I was a little tied up, I guess. I really don’t remember anything from the last two days, to be honest.”
“So you can’t tell us anything about who attacked you?”
“Not a thing.” But his hand squeezed Liz’s and she glanced at him, frowning. He didn’t even look at her. “So if you planned to send the cops in, you can tell them that, okay? I got jumped in an alley, made it up to my apartment, and kind of struggled around in the dark until I found my bed.”
“Why didn’t you just head straight to the hospital?”
“Beats me,” Carter said. “I don’t think I was exactly in my right mind, what with the gaping hole in my side. You said I was stabbed?”
“Yes.”
“Really feels like a gunshot wound.”
“You were stabbed.”
“How can this possibly feel worse than a gunshot wound, though? I didn’t think it’d be possible.”
The doctor shrugged and closed the chart. “Just get some rest, L
ieutenant,” she said. “Because, despite your objections and the fact that you just told me everything that you remember, the cops will be in soon to question you.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Carter sighed.
“Is he always this charming in the morning?” Dr. Hartmann asked Liz.
“Sometimes, he doesn’t curse.”
“Sounds heavenly.” The doctor left the room.
“Why the hell is she wasting her time in medicine?” Carter asked as soon as Dr. Hartmann was gone. “She could have been a killer stand-up comedian.”
“Are you feeling a little loopy?” Liz laughed, reaching up to run her hand over his head, gently.
“Must be the stabbing.”
“Probably,” she giggled. “Sorry they can’t give you any more painkillers. They had you on morphine earlier, before they took out that little chunk of infected liver. Then there was the anesthesia. And now a bit of ibuprofen, but that’s probably already starting to wear off by now, huh?”
“I think so,” he sighed. He turned his head and surveyed her features, making Liz blush.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he replied. “Just trying to distract myself from the pain with something pretty.”
“Oh, shut up,” she said. “I’m mad at you.”
“For what?”
“For shutting me out the way you did. For not calling. Ever. For not trusting me.”
“I trust you more than anybody else in my life right now,” Carter said, and the words were honest. Liz could feel that with every fiber in her being. “But there are a few things that are…complicated right now.”
“Do they have anything to do with the ‘stabbing’?” she lifted one eyebrow and he sighed.
“We’ll talk about it later,” he whispered, “when we’re not being monitored in a hospital room. Okay? I swear.”
Liz nodded and leaned down, pressing a kiss against his lips. She thought about saying the words, somewhere he can’t run away from just yet. But that would be unfair to the both of them.
