Reckless Endangerment

by Amber Lea Easton

  Once positioned at a side table near the window, he released the breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. He had finally come home.

  “Nice, isn’t it?” McGee said with the knowledge of a fellow soldier.

  “Heaven.” He nodded with a grin. “You’re buying. I left my wallet at the institute.”

  “Convenient.”

  “I’m sure you owe me.” He rubbed his hands over the arms of the chair and looked around the bar. Happy hour. How long had it been since he had enjoyed a happy hour? He remembered Hope’s words as she had hid in the overturned jeep: happy hour in Denver. His smile slipped with the memory.

  Her voice had brought him back to consciousness. She had huddled in the overturned jeep with corpses of his men around her, men she’d done whiskey shots with the weekend before. The earth shook with the force of bombs. Flames and smoke surrounded them. She hadn’t yet realized that he was there, the lone survivor of that vehicle. Her ugly hat she always wore when working had been pulled low over her blood-spattered face as she had muttered on and on to the dead men about dreaming of happy hour in Denver, about going home.

  “I left a message for Shane to call me as soon as she returned back to her place, told her it was an emergency,” McGee said after ordering them a pitcher of the local microbrew. “You’re thinking about her, right?”

  “A few months ago we were all in Afghanistan fighting a war, keeping our secret and now here we are in Denver. Feels strange. Time is all out of whack.” He studied McGee who’d lost as many friends as he had, who’d followed orders even when it’d been obvious he questioned them, who faced similar challenges to adjusting to civilian life. “I never asked you...you’ve been discharged for a few months now, what are you doing with yourself?

  McGee glanced out the window while he took a long sip of beer. “It’s a whole other world, that’s for sure. Nothing is as cut and dried as it was in the Corps.”

  “Do you go to the support meetings with other vets?” He knew he was bordering on touchy feely which was completely against the norm for him, but he wanted to know from someone who was successfully walking amongst the civilians.

  McGee shrugged and stared out the window. “It is what it is, right? Why dwell on it? It wasn’t easy getting a job with my skill set, though, I’ll tell you that much.”

  He nursed his beer and looked around the bar. Even though he blended in with the crowd, he didn’t feel like one of them. Not yet. Maybe never.

  “The FBI is following us, you realize that, don’t you?” McGee squinted. “Feds suck at surveillance.”

  Actually, he hadn’t realized that. He followed McGee’s gaze. Whatever Hope was into must be big if he had a protection detail that extended beyond McGee. So everyone official knew of the marriage at this point, that was obvious. He swallowed the momentary annoyance at being tailed like some helpless civilian. Then again, that’s exactly how he’d been acting.

  They drank their beer, both carefully keeping the conversation light. Baseball. Women. When McGee’s cell phone rang, he knew instinctively that Hope called. He watched his friend’s face as he talked.

  Maybe she didn’t want him barging into her home without notice after who knows what kind of hell she’d been through the past few days. Now here he was interfering, becoming one more problem she had to contend with today. He dropped his gaze to the bottom of his empty glass. Maybe she was telling McGee to take him back to the institute and keep him out of her hair until she was ready. He hadn’t even packed a bag or grabbed his wallet before embarking on this half-assed plan with McGee.

  “Well, here we go.” McGee slipped his cell phone into this pocket and stared across the table at him. “Are you ready?”

  Was he ready? Not even close. He grinned. “I’m a Marine. Do you really think I’m scared of some redhead?”

  “Hell yes.” McGee tossed money onto the table.

  He laughed and glanced toward the FBI agents now sitting at a table outside. “I suppose our shadows will follow us.”

  “Of course.” McGee stood and waited for him to move from the table. “By the way, she doesn’t know you’re with me. I thought it would be better to keep the surprise going until it was too late for her to do anything about it. Ready to go home, Colonel?”

  He maneuvered through the crowd, his head a little foggy from the combination of beer, physical exhaustion and apprehension. He could hardly believe he was going home. Home to a place he had never been, but Hope lived there so…home.

  In front of her building, McGee pressed the button to the security door and gave him the thumb’s up sign when they were quickly buzzed in. He snorted at the optimistic smile on McGee’s face.

  The lobby impressed him with its wide marble floors, windows overlooking the river and tall ceiling. He noticed the staircase curving along side the opposite wall and imagined Hope running up them two at a time, too impatient to wait for an elevator. He gulped down the ever-present doubt. He’d arrived in Denver with a chip on his shoulder determined to avoid his wife at all costs and now he was in the foyer of her building about to do what exactly? Save her from the bad guys?

  “Colonel,” McGee said as he held the elevator doors open and waited. “Thinking of retreating?”

  “Something like that,” he muttered.

  McGee pressed the button for the eighth floor.

  He tapped his fingers against his thighs. The reality of seeing Hope’s home—his home—for the first time weighed heavily on his shoulders. He didn’t deserve to be here after the way he’d treated her.

  When the elevator doors opened, he let McGee take the lead. There were only four doors on this floor. From what Becky had said, she owned two of the lofts, which meant one side of the building was hers alone.

  A man with shoulder-length blond hair opened the door. He eyed them with narrowed eyes. “Are you McGee?”

  “Yes and this is Michael Cedars.”

  “I’m Marshall,” the man said before looking over his shoulder. “I thought there was just one of you coming up. She’s not expecting two.”

  Protective guy. He liked that.

  “I’m a surprise tag along,” he said to Marshall who didn’t look convinced about letting them inside. “Tell her Michael is here, if you have a doubt.”

  Not that that would be an automatic ‘in’, but he had to say something. Now his curiosity had elevated too far to turn away.

  Marshall shoved his hands into the pockets of his well-worn jeans and squinted at him. “Are you the Colonel? The secret husband?”

  He grinned. She was using her ammunition after all. “The one and only.”

  “Well, hey, man, nice to meet you.” Marshall stepped forward and shook his hand. “There’s a lot of commotion in here. She just wrapped up an interview with a source who wants to remain anonymous. We did the filming in the back room. Very hush hush. After this week, I need to be cautious. Big story.”

  “Must be,” he muttered as Marshall stepped out of the way to allow them access to the inner sanctum.

  * * * *

  She and Devon reviewed the footage they had just filmed. Marshall had been able to distort the voice and the woman’s face had been cast in shadow. An illegal immigrant, Angel, told her story about being forced into the sex trade to pay for her transport to the United States. It was only through sheer luck, some outside help and a lot of guts that she’d been able to escape, but two of her sisters remained captive somewhere in Colorado. She’d promised Rourke she’d protect this woman and planned on keeping her word. She stifled the questions about how Rourke had come to know her--assumed the worst--but at least the man had attempted redemption before his death.

  “Hey, ladies, the Marines are here,” Marshall called out from the hallway.

  She grinned at the theatrical nature with which he said “Marines”. With a sigh, she leaned back in her chair.

  “One helluva week,” she said to Devon without turning around. “We’re one step closer to wrapping this up.”


  “Cabo here we come.” Devon rubbed the back of her neck before looking over her shoulder to the hallway. “Um, we have visitors, Shane.”

  She turned her head with a ready smile for McGee, but was unprepared to see Michael there. He looked as apprehensive as she felt shocked.

  Damn, the man could make her salivate at the most inopportune times. Danger lurked around every corner these days and he shouldn’t be here. He should be far, far away, but, despite knowing that, she wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and hold on tight.

  “Well, look who’s out and about,” she said after finding her voice.

  “I’ve gone AWOL for you, babe.”

  “I respect the initiative.” She tapped her fingers against the desk, unable to stop her gaze from roaming over him, remembering him biting her thigh just days ago and wanting more of that.

  He moved into the office, face curious as he surveyed the mess of clutter and books piled across her desk. He looked at the pictures of her with celebrities and politicians that had been taken over the course of her career. He shook his head when his gaze rested on her two Emmy’s propped haphazardly on a stack of travel magazines.

  “That side of the office is yours.” She pointed to the pristine part of the office where an L-shaped desk sat ready and waiting, along with a laptop and a drafting table. “My side is off limits.”

  “My side,” he muttered with a nod, “looks safer over there.”

  “I’m Devon.” Devon stood and held her hand out to him. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Colonel.”

  “You have?” He couldn’t hide the surprise on his face. More than surprise, he looked stunned.

  “She said you were molten hot, good in bed and a pain in the ass. Good to know you.” With a wink, she walked toward the hallway. “I’ll take the other boys out for some food so you two can have some time alone. Any requests?”

  “Discretion, but it’s too late for that, so no. Whatever you bring back will be good enough, right, Michael?” She braved a glance at his face and was relieved to see his answering smile.

  “Discretion is overrated.” He motioned toward the other side of the office. “My space, huh? Drafting table? Computer?”

  Feeling like the puppet master pulling his strings as he’d accused her of being, she shifted in her chair. “Listen, I know you haven’t given any thought to life after the Marines yet so don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”

  “Life after the Marines...It’s time for me to put that engineering degree to use, that’s what you’re trying to say in your oh so subtle way.” He touched the desk with a sort of awe before gazing out the window that separated their two sides of the room. “Nice place you have.”

  “Our place,” she corrected him. Without taking her eyes from his profile, she leaned back in her chair. Seeing him here felt like fantasy more than reality.

  “Our place,” he repeated. “You overwhelm me, do you know that?”

  She looked down at her dirty jeans and rubbed her fists over her thighs. Yeah, she’d heard that before many times from a wide variety of people. Nerves rippled beneath her skin.

  “What’s going on? Why the guard at the door? Why’d you disappear for a few days? Tell me what kind of trouble you’re in so I know what to expect.” He caressed her bare foot that was propped on the edge of the desk.

  She touched the stitches above her eye and frowned. “Why are you here? How? What do you want?”

  “I thought…” his self-conscious smile twisted at her heart, “never mind. It all seems stupid now.”

  “What did you think?” She held her breath, tired of the uncertainty gripping them.

  They stared at each other. Unanswered questions wafted in the air between them.

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “It matters.”

  “I heard about what happened and thought maybe…” he laughed before shaking his head and looking away, “I thought maybe I should be here protecting you. Stupid, huh? I’m not exactly anyone’s hero anymore, am I?”

  A slow smile cracked her torn lip but she didn’t care. She liked the idea of him rushing to her side to protect her from the bullies on the street. Yes, her Michael still lived inside that man, whether he could see it or not.

  “My big brave Marine rushing to my rescue. Some things never change.”

  “Getting here was my brave act of the day.” His laugh sounded relaxed and reminded her of better times. Considering those times were in a war zone, she laughed, too.

  “I should have known McGee would be your puppy. He does whatever you say.”

  He squeezed her foot. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No, I want you to stay,” she whispered, her gaze locked on his fingers as they absently stroked her foot.

  “Good. How about a tour? Our place, huh?”

  Confused, she squinted at him before slipping her foot from his touch. All of this “our” business tossed her emotions into a whirlwind. Push her away, pull her close, she wished he’d make up his damn mind. She rubbed a closed fist across her bruised forehead and sighed. She definitely needed a vacation with a massage on a beach somewhere.

  “I’m not here to fight,” he said so quietly she wondered if she’d heard him correctly. “I want to come home, to you, whatever that means.”

  Caution overshadowed joy.

  “We’re a complicated duo,” she said.

  “The most interesting people are complicated, isn’t that what you used to say?”

  “I used to say a lot of things, most of which were complete bullshit.” A smile crept across her lips. “Neither one of us knows what we’re doing, being married, being stateside, being normal people.”

  “We’ll never be normal people.” His wink caught her off guard. “How about a tour? What other surprises are stashed around the house? More stuff for me?”

  “Does Becky know you’re running amuck through the city? Do you have your things with you? Are you staying? Do you have some medication that I need to be aware of? I don’t want to be the one who kills you.” Questions took over her brain. The idea that he was here to stay re-energized her as if the exhaustion of a few minutes ago had never existed. She jumped up and pushed her hands through her hair. “God, I’m a mess. We were in the woods and then Angel decided to let us film her so we rushed back. I need a shower.”

  He leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing with a familiar look that never failed to make her crave him inside her. Damn it, she would need to proceed with caution here. Situation red. All systems on alert. Do not break him. Do. Not. Break. Him.

  “I always liked you a little dirty and disheveled.” His gaze roamed over her. “Have you been waiting with a yellow ribbon tied anywhere interesting?”

  My God, he was flirting with her.

  “Careful, babe. You’re headed into dangerous territory. Remember what happened Tuesday and Wednesday?”

  “I remember both days very well.” The hunger in his eyes melted her core.

  Unsure how to deal with this new version of her husband, she walked out of the room.

  “I like my view,” he said as he followed behind her, eyes level with her ass.

  Interesting turn of events. She shook her head and walked to the kitchen for a beer. Not only did she need one, she wanted to give him something to do with his hands.

  She jumped when she turned and found him directly behind her heels. Stealthy. That could be bad.

  With narrowed eyes, she handed him the beer. “Any medication I need to be worried about?”

  “You are overly concerned with my medication yet are constantly handing me alcohol. I can’t decide if you’re trying to kill me or keep me dazed.” He took the beer from her, his smile throwing her off guard. Only a few days ago he had been cursing her existence in his life, now here he was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Want to tell me what you and Devon were up to today? What’s this big story that has feds following us and you screening visitors? Time for a confession.”
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  “I’d rather give you the tour.” She leaned her back against the refrigerator, completely forgetting about Devon, McGee and Marshall. “Do you have any mental illnesses I should know about before we go any further? Your mood swings are hard to keep up with.”

  “How far are we intending to go?” He slid his hand up her jean-clad thigh, gaze locked on the zipper. “I want to be inside you again, see what’s possible. The other day, tasting you, made me want more.”

  “Definite mental problems.” She let him touch her, her insides liquefying at the memory of his lips on her skin. “Want to see the rest of the place or do you just want to sit here looking smug?”

  “I can look smug and look at the rest of the place at the same time.”

  “You’re definitely on some serious meds. C’mon then.” With a swing of her arm, she motioned toward the empty spaces surrounding the living area. “Kitchen, dining area minus a table, sitting area or library or something…not sure what to do with that large space filled with boxes but we’ll figure it out. You can see the living area.”

  “So that leather sofa is mine, too? The television? It’s ours? Together?” He moved in front of her with a sense of awe on his face.

  She leaned her elbows on the kitchen counter and watched him move around like a kid on Christmas morning who had just been given everything he’d ever wanted. “Yes, it’s all yours. Ours.”

  “No wonder Becky called this place a monstrosity.”

  She led him to the far bedroom--the one whose door remained firmly closed. She hesitated with her hand on the doorknob for only a second before pushing it open. A full size bed occupied the room covered by a comforter depicting every sport imaginable. Unsure what a boy Dalton’s age would like or want, she had played it safe and covered her bases.

  She’d taken a big risk buying this place and decorating it without knowing if he would ever see it. Now he would see her borderline desperation.