Make Mine a Marine

by Julie Miller

  BJ was gone. The coolness of his skin indicated she had been gone for some time. It had all been a cruel trick, a nightmare distraction to keep him from protecting BJ. Hell. Ah, hell.

  “BJ?”

  At the second anguished wail, Brodie hit the floor running. Maybe he had never screamed at all. Maybe his nightmare hadn't ended. He pulled his knife on his way through the kitchen, dropping the sheath as he sped toward the sound of sobbing terror.

  Unfailing instincts carried him through the darkened rooms to the back porch. He slipped noiselessly through the open door, scanning each corner and beyond the windows into the night. No sign of forced entry. He had come through the only opening that wasn't locked tight. Still, the room felt violated.

  “Duke. C'mon, sweetie. C'mon.”

  A sob punctuated each plea. At the far end of the porch BJ knelt on the floor, her shoulders quaking with undisguised pain.

  Tucking his knife through a belt loop, he moved toward her, speaking her name so that his barefooted presence wouldn't startle her. She lifted her head, and Brodie knew from the haunted look that shadowed her tearstained eyes that BJ had suffered another episode. He gave her a few moments to recognize him fully before moving any closer.

  “Who would do this?” she whispered through teeth clenched as tightly as her fists.

  Brodie shifted his gaze to the tiny black bundle lying in front of her. He lowered himself to one knee. He wanted to touch her, to comfort her. But he didn't dare risk giving in to the urge while his emotions were out of control. The exterior of his big, scarred body was nothing compared to the violence roiling within him.

  He hovered momentarily at her shoulder before checking Duke's inert form.

  BJ hugged her arms around herself. “Why would someone want to kill him? How could he possibly hurt anyone? All he ever did was love me.”

  Duke's belly was cool to the touch. But something stirred beneath Brodie's fingertips. Perhaps the erratic beating of the dog's heart, perhaps his miniature lungs struggling for another breath.

  “He's alive.”

  BJ's tight little gasp echoed the dog's. “But he isn't moving.”

  Brodie pushed to his feet. He grabbed a cotton afghan off a wicker rocker and wrapped it around Duke's body. BJ still hadn't moved.

  “Call the vet. I'll drive him to the emergency room.”

  “Will he be okay?”

  He lowered his tone and spoke more firmly. He didn't want to frighten her unnecessarily, but he needed her to stay in control and make the call. “Go, BJ. Do it.”

  With a tentative nod, she got up and went into the kitchen. Brodie turned on a lamp and checked Duke again. The little animal who hated him so made his big hands feel clumsy, but he felt no broken bones or wounds. The problem must be internal.

  Brodie inspected Duke's food dish and found the remnants of a white, grainy powder mixed with the crumbs of dog food.

  “Brodie?”

  Brodie stood while she paused in the doorway. Her eyes looked clear. BJ was with him again. She knew his name, knew her surroundings. But his relief was tempered by the stricken pallor of her skin.

  “Did you reach the vet?”

  “He'll meet us at his office.”

  Brodie stepped toward her. The dog might be a nuisance, but he'd never wish any harm to the cur. The little fluff ball helped save BJ at the Morrisey Institute and he intended to repay the favor. “We'd better hurry.”

  “I poisoned him.” She stopped him at the door.

  “You know damn well you didn't. You're crazy about Duke.”

  “I did it.”

  She uncurled her left fist and held it up. Three tablets sat in the midst of the same white dust he had found in Duke's dish.

  “Aspirin with codeine for my migraines. I never use them. There were only a few left in the bottle. How could they make me kill Du… ?”

  A sob choked off Duke's name. Momentarily forgetting the dog's need, Brodie knocked the pills out of her hand and pulled her forward.

  She came willingly, unresisting when he wrapped his arms around her and pressed her cheek against his chest. He accepted BJ's aching pain when she wound her arms about his waist and aligned her body more closely to his. He felt each sob that wracked her body. He felt her tears burning his skin.

  “I tried to kill Duke.”

  Rage that pushed the limits of his control churned inside Brodie. Abruptly, he took her by the shoulders and pushed her away. He heard her dismayed gasp. Her fingers snatched the air, trying to return to his embrace.

  He forced gentleness into his touch and cupped her face between his hands. “You aren't responsible for this.”

  “I had the pills in my hand.”

  “No!” She flinched at the undisguised fury in his voice. He brushed a curl behind her ear, and continued to stroke her temple, atoning for his harshness. BJ's hands settled at either side of his waist, steadying herself.

  Brodie worked to control his anger. If he told her what he knew about Damon Morrisey, he could send BJ over the edge. How could he protect her from an enemy she refused to acknowledge? Drowning in the depths of her blue-green eyes, though, Brodie silently swore he would never hurt her with his words or his actions.

  “You didn't do this. Whoever is controlling your mind is responsible for poisoning the dog, not you.”

  “But why would they want me to hurt him? He doesn't have anything to do with my ideas.” Panic crept back into her voice. “There was no phone call this time. How did I get programmed for this? How could they make me hurt something I love?”

  He felt her desperation in her fingers digging into his skin. He stopped the madness overtaking her the only way he knew how.

  Lowering his head, he closed his mouth over hers, grinding her soft lips against her teeth. The punishing assault brought a startled cry to her throat, but he paid no heed. His goal was to blot out the fear and self-doubt that transformed this smart, sassy woman into a frightened creature barely capable of standing on her own two feet.

  Surprisingly, her lips parted, inviting him inside. He responded to her welcome by softening his touch. He slid his hands down to the small of her back, pulling her against him. Her fingers brushed his chest, reaching upward to anchor themselves around his neck. BJ clung like she needed a lifeline. Like she needed him. She tilted her head to the side and he angled himself above her to plunder her sweet mouth with his tongue.

  Unlike the fire that had ignited between them during their previous kisses, this mating was pure and holy. A comforting contact that nurtured both their souls. Brodie savored her healing touch, and tried to give her some solace in return.

  But his skills lay not in trading comforts, but in taking action. BJ would never forgive herself if Duke died. Reluctantly, Brodie withdrew. He hunched himself down to her level, and brushed the pad of his thumb over her kiss-swollen bottom lip.

  “We need to get to the vet's office. Throw on some jeans and your shoes. I'll get Duke and meet you out front.”

  His gentle command met with a calmer, more rational response. “I'll get your shirt and boots, too. You take care of Duke, please.”

  Brodie watched her disappear into the kitchen. Only moments before, in his charmed, tortured sleep, he had sat in that kitchen with her, living the sweetest dream of his life. Holding their son, loving BJ, sharing a life together.

  But cruel reality had turned the exquisite vision into a nightmare, reminding him how useless it was for him to care.

  With an angry shake of his head, Brodie picked up Duke. Even wrapped in the afghan, the tiny dog barely filled his hands. Duke whimpered in his unnatural sleep, reminding Brodie of the dog's mistress and her shaky trust in him.

  Brodie's territory had been violated tonight. BJ and Duke weren't really his family, but he couldn't quell the protective instincts that crowded his head and put murder into his heart. He cradled the dog in his arms and headed for the garage.

  “I want to see your friend. This Hawk you think can help
me.”

  Brodie uncurled himself from one of the tiny chairs in the waiting room. BJ had stood at that window for over an hour, arms crossed in a protective hug, staring at the reds and oranges of the dawning sun.

  Other than the clinical exchange she had shared with the veterinarian upon their arrival, she hadn't spoken a word. Brodie maintained a respectful distance, understanding the intensity of her sorrow, knowing exactly how it felt to be responsible for hurting someone you loved, and knowing that no words could ease the guilt that consumed all else.

  She turned and faced him, tilting her chin and looking at him with a clear, steady gaze. “It's stupid to let a phobia keep me from seeking help. Especially when this is the result of my stubbornness.”

  He followed her gaze to the door of the emergency room where the vet and an assistant worked with Duke. “It's not stubbornness, Beej. It's called self-preservation. After living through the childhood you described to me, you have every reason to be afraid.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and looked at him. “Maybe if I had gone to a psychiatrist sooner, I could have avoided this.”

  “A psychiatrist can't help you with what you're up against.”

  “Damn it, Brodie, quit talking in riddles.” She thrust her fingers into her hair and shot past him, pacing the length of the room. “You know more than you're telling me. Maybe if we worked together, we could figure this out. But no, you've got some old-fashioned notion that you're a knight in shining armor who has to protect me.”

  She planted herself in front of him, grateful and defiant at the same time. “Well, you can't protect me. You've tried, and I love you for it, but you can't.”

  She made a fist and tapped her chest. “I need to do something. As soon as we know about Duke, I want you to take me to your friend. I'll answer his questions or get hypnotized or do whatever it is he wants.”

  Brodie reached for her, but she pulled away.

  “I have to get this monster out of my head. You have to tell me those secrets you keep hiding.”

  A weight that seemed like hell settled around his shoulders. The desperate, pleading light in BJ's beautifully expressive eyes resigned him to telling the truth. But maybe he could buy a few more hours of her love. Maybe she didn't have to hate him just yet.

  “I'll tell you what I know. But after you talk to Hawk.”

  “Why wait?” Her gaze grew skeptical.

  Briefly, Brodie wished this mission was taking place even a hundred years earlier, back in a time when he could tell a woman to accept what he said without argument. But this wasn't the 1800's or the Middle Ages. This was the modern world where women spoke their minds and asked questions, where they served on the front line in the same battles a man did.

  This was BJ's world, and part of what made her so special was the honesty and tenacity she wouldn't have expressed a century ago. She deserved an explanation. Maybe if the evil that stemmed from his time hadn't reached across the centuries and sunk its talons into BJ's mind, he would find it easier to respect the demands of a modern woman.

  Carefully, he put together his explanation. “I'm afraid the information might upset you. I'd rather wait and tell you afterward, in case it affects Hawk's ability to help you.”

  “Okay.” She agreed to the compromise, and something in her eyes shifted. Her resolution remained firm, but now she opened herself to her need. Her need for him. She swayed forward and Brodie caught her, wrapping her tenderly in his embrace. “Anyone else would have put me away in an asylum by now.”

  “In my natural time, you would have been chained in the tower. If nobody had beheaded you yet for that smart mouth of yours.”

  Her laughter reverberated against his stomach. She leaned back against his arms and gave him one of those beautiful, bright smiles that made him feel human. “I'm lucky, I guess.”

  The smile vanished and the mood was broken when the door swung open. “Ms. Kincaid?”

  BJ clasped his hand and squeezed it tightly, waiting for the vet to speak.

  “Is he okay?”

  The vet's kind countenance took in both BJ and Brodie. “Fortunately, you acted quickly and kept him from going into shock. We pumped his stomach, and yes, I think he's going to be fine.”

  Brodie pressed her hand in return, sending up a silent thank you that fate had made a rare, favorable decision in his life.

  “I want to keep him until tomorrow for observation, but I think he could use a friendly tummy rub.”

  “Absolutely.”

  BJ's relief was a palpable thing. When the vet held the door open for them, Brodie stayed put. “You go ahead. I don't want to get him agitated.”

  The door swung shut behind them, leaving Brodie alone in the waiting room. With the immediate crisis over, he turned his thoughts to other matters. Why would Damon want BJ to kill the dog? Was it simply a show of power? A reminder that he still controlled BJ's mind?

  What kind of game was Damon Morrisey playing? He used BJ's skills to tap into computers undetected around the world. Her pirated ideas could make millions on either the legal or the black market. Those things made sense. The lust for power was an entity that fed upon itself. The more Damon accumulated, the more he wanted. He could control his employees, control his protégée. With BJ's technological capabilities at his command, he could spread his influence throughout the world.

  But why turn BJ into a killer? Damon must have recognized Brodie immediately as his daughter's slayer, so he would have known BJ could never succeed in killing him. Yet he programmed her to try anyway. And why go after the dog?

  Brodie stalked to the window, symbolically looking for some inspiring light on the subject. Duke had as much spirit as a Doberman, as much intelligence as a German shepherd. His diminutive size did nothing to diminish his loyalty and devotion to BJ.

  He remembered the first time he had met the mutt. How the tiny thing had attacked his boot and wedged himself protectively between BJ and himself. He remembered the growling and the snarling, despite BJ's assertion that he was normally a very good-natured pet.

  Brodie snapped into intuitive awareness. Duke sensed that he was different. Unnatural. Immortal.

  Duke would have the same reaction to Damon. And BJ just might believe the truth if Duke backed it up. Would a sorcerer as powerful as Damon Morrisey really fear that a noisy dog might give him away?

  If that were true, it could only mean one thing. Damon's control was slipping. He was no longer the all-powerful sorcerer who could kill a man with a mere suggestion of thought, a flick of his hand. Damon was covering his bases. He was afraid.

  He could be beaten.

  Brodie bought BJ breakfast at a real sit-down restaurant, an ordeal he would not have endured a week ago. Customers stared at him, the waitresses whispered to each other behind the counter. The busboy who brought them their water spoke to BJ, but never made eye contact with him.

  For once, Brodie didn't mind being a sideshow. He didn't really feel like one with BJ sitting across from him, sharing silly stories about her adventures with Duke. He could listen to that husky-honey voice for hours without tiring of it. And even if she couldn't speak, he'd still know her thoughts. Her eyes showed him everything—relief, love, anticipation, apprehension.

  She listened to him intently, looking beyond the scars.

  She worked a miracle in that restaurant that morning, easing the tension in the people around them, allaying their fears and curiosity about the big, bad monster of a man just by being with him.

  But now that they were alone again, heading across northeast Kansas on Route 36, she had grown quiet, withdrawn. He reached across the seat and captured her hand. “Sleepy?”

  She offered him a reassuring smile. “Just thinking.” She looked out the window again. “There's not much out here but cornfields, is there? These rolling hills seem to go on forever.”

  “The land is fertile,” he said. “Don't be fooled by the desolation. This area is rich in history. The Pony Express came through
here. This highway generally follows the Oregon Trail.”

  “Let me guess. You were a wagon train master in the 1880's.”

  Brodie shook his head. “I worked as a guard for the Overland Express Stage Company. We followed the same route to Sacramento.”

  BJ laughed. “You know, that is really a bizarre thing to say while you're driving four-wheel drive SUV with a six-cylinder engine. But I believe you.”

  They rode in companionable silence for several more minutes before she asked, “This Indian friend of yours, is he immortal, too?”

  Brodie answered the question with the same seriousness in which it was asked. “No. He's a friend from the Corps. First Lieutenant Echohawk. Communications and reconnaissance. I never did know his first name. We just called him Hawk.”

  “He probably doesn't get much business up here, does he?”

  “They may be spread out, but a lot of his people live in this region of the country. There are several reservations in the area. He counsels all kinds of problems—juvenile delinquency, marriage issues, depression. He did a lot of work with local farmers a few years back when the agricultural industry was going broke.”

  Brodie paused and thought about the man he had served with. On special missions, they had depended on each other for survival. They still contacted each other from time to time, mostly to inquire about leads on Jonathan Ramsey. Yet Brodie knew very little about the man himself.

  “I don't know his reasons, but I think the solitude up here suits him.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  He felt her gaze, sensed the trepidation in her fingertips. He slowed the Explorer as they reached the outskirts of Marysville, Kansas. “In battle, I always acted as if I were mortal. I kept my head down and took the same precautions the other guys did. It made me a better soldier, I think, to pretend a bullet could take me out, too. I served with good men. I trusted them. I trust Hawk to take care of you, too.”

  She seemed to relax with his reassurance, but he suspected her relief was only skin-deep. When he pulled into a parking space in front of Hawk's office, she stiffened up again. Brodie cut the engine. He leaned across the seat and caught her chin in his palm. She faced him without resistance.