Make Mine a Marine

by Julie Miller

  Kensit shook his head. "My God, Sarah. What would your father say?"

  "That it's about time I stood up for what I want. What I deserve."

  Grumbling under his breath, Kensit stalked off. Hawk smiled, his pride in Sarah too strong to hide. The power of his emotion must have alerted that latent sixth sense of hers. Her slender shoulders relaxed with a sigh and she turned to face him.

  Her subtle half smile rocked him back on his heels. "I wondered when you'd be coming home."

  Home. On Sarah's lips, the word sounded pretty close to heaven.

  Suddenly he felt as awkward and shy as Sarah had once been. He looked from side to side, watching the gatherings of friends and colleagues lingering in the auditorium. "You want to run off to a tropical island somewhere?" he asked.

  Sarah laughed, the weight of dread lifting from her heart. Walter's groundless threats to take her job away had sapped her waning strength. But the real fear in her heart had come from the uncertainty of whether she'd see Hawk again. True, they lived in the same small town. But she was an expert at blending into a crowd and remaining anonymous. She had no doubt Hawk could slip in and out of her world unseen, too.

  "Been there. Done that." She tried to keep the desperate question she wanted to ask out of her voice. "But I'd settle for a walk to my car."

  "My pleasure."

  The summer air was cool on her bare arms, but Hawk's large hand burned her skin at the small of her back. He guided her through the night as unerringly as he had guided her through the jungle. He made her feel safe. Cherished. Loved.

  She prayed she could do the same for him.

  When they reached her car, Sarah turned to face him. The soft amber glow of the streetlight reflected off the blue highlights in his inky black hair. The light warmed the coppery skin across his regal nose and cheekbones. But his darker-than-midnight eyes glowed with a light of their own.

  "Sarah—"

  "Hawk—"

  They laughed together, and Sarah took heart in knowing he might be experiencing the same set of nerves she did. "You go ahead."

  "Ladies first," he insisted.

  Lifting her chin, Sarah reached down deep into her heart and did the bravest thing she'd ever done. "I love you, Hawk."

  He shifted on his black-booted feet, and she put her hand on his chest, hastening to stop him from interrupting her.

  "I didn't say all those things at the tomb just to keep you in the land of the living. I didn't want to lose you." She frowned at the arrogance of her statement and corrected herself. "I didn't want to lose the chance to be with you."

  "Sarah—"

  She pressed her fingers over his lips to silence him. He held himself perfectly still, a docile brute fighting his instinct to take action. She wondered if he'd ever forgive himself for strangling her while under Meczaquatl's influence. She wondered if she could make him see that she had already forgiven him.

  "When you…" Her breath came in shallow gasps as she remembered Hawk's tortured wails as he fought to bring himself back to the living. She pushed the nightmare from her mind and concentrated on the living, breathing, fully cognizant man in front of her. "When I pulled you from the tomb, and you made love to me, right there on the jungle floor, I felt so beautiful."

  "I'm sorry I—"

  "Don't you dare apologize." She brushed her fingers across his jaw now, petting him, soothing him. "You needed me, Hawk. Only me. I've never been that important to anyone in my whole life. You weren't using me. I gave myself to you. My body, my heart, my strength… I wanted to give you whatever you needed."

  She cupped his jaw and met the full force of his obsidian gaze. "I still want to give you that. Everything. If you want me."

  "If I want…?"

  He gathered her into his arms then. His mouth claimed hers in a searing kiss that left her pulse pounding all the way down to her toes. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on, feeling whole at last, locked in this man's arms.

  When he ended the kiss, he still held her, running his hands up and down her arms, along her back, over her hips, and then back up again to frame her face. The light in his eyes glittered with hope, and the faintest sheen of tears glazed the tips of his sooty lashes.

  "I thought I'd destroyed everything between us." She smiled through her own tears, and Hawk knew they were shed in happiness, not sorrow, this time. "At the estate house, I couldn't tell you I loved you because I didn't want to raise your hopes, not knowing if I'd make it back or not. I didn't want to hurt you the way Kensit did. But then, at the tomb, I was so desperate for you, I just took, and I didn't care, and I thought—I worried—that was the same way Kensit had used you."

  He stroked her with every catch of his breath, beating himself inside, even as he apologized. Finally Sarah caught his hands. She pressed a kiss inside one palm, then rested her cheek on its callused pillow.

  "You were never like Walter. You never could be. You love me." Sarah went still as her courage wavered. "You do love me, don't you?"

  Protecting herself instinctively, she released him and backed toward her car. But with a devilish smile, Hawk followed her. At the last moment, he reached for her and turned. With her snug in his arms, he leaned against the car and pulled her right off her feet.

  Every solid inch of chest and thighs and man imprinted itself along the length of her body like an intimate caress.

  "Yes. I love you. I loved you when I cut your hair. I loved you when you stood up to Salazar. I loved you when you saved my soul. And I will love you forever, if you can stand being married to a big, crazy Indian who sees things he shouldn't, and knows things he doesn't always want to." He punctuated every sentence with a kiss, igniting a feverish combination of touch and words and love.

  Sarah wound her fingers into his midnight hair, nibbled on the sensitive hollow beneath his chin, and gave back some of his own seductive medicine. "Well, know this, Virgil Echohawk, gifted man who uses his powers to help others in need. I love you. I want you. I want to be your wife."

  Some time later, tangled in the flowered sheets of her four-poster bed and Hawk's arms, sure of his love and sure of herself, Sarah snuggled closer. She traced circles along the sculpted contours of his sinfully beautiful chest and hummed a tuneless little song of contentment.

  "I'd like to invite my mother, and my father's uncle, Otis Peace Hands," said Hawk. "Brodie, Rafe and Kel, of course."

  Sarah flicked her finger over one taut male nipple and his breath hissed. He caught her hand and spread it flat on top of his heart. "Witch," he teased. "I'm trying to plan a wedding here as soon as possible." He pressed a kiss to her forehead and hugged her to his side. "I'm afraid I'm going to tarnish your reputation because I won't be able to stay away."

  She harrumphed like a scolded little girl and levered herself so that the top half of her naked body rested on top of his. "I'm thirty-four years old. It's about time my reputation lost a little of its luster."

  Hearing him laugh helped her understand just how deeply she had touched this man. The trail of her fingers led her to the sicun resting on his chest. She lifted it reverently, continually amazed by its vibrant, radiating warmth. "This is your spirit stone, right?"

  He nodded, capturing the stone and her hand together in his grasp. "My father led me on the quest to find it when I was thirteen. It resonates with the power of my soul, protecting me, sometimes increasing the strength of my perception.

  "I figured out the meaning of my vision, schoolmarm." He closed his arms around her. Sarah nestled her head beneath his chin, keenly aware of the warmth of his sicun, his soul, vibrating through her. "I saved you, and you saved me. Together we can conquer anything. In this world or the next."

  Sarah sought his lips to thank him, and to pledge her love on their journey together. She’d found the adventure she had sought in the loving, honorable soul of her Shadow Man.

  And he had found the only acceptance he needed, inside Sarah's heart.

  Always Faithful

/>   Julie Miller

  For Tom Binger

  Every girl should be lucky enough to have a big brother like him.

  And with thanks to the two Georges in my life.

  I've learned about the character it takes to be a

  United States Marine from you both.

  I thank you for letting me ask questions, listen to your stories

  and observe you in action as veterans and family men.

  Any mistakes in my fictional world are my own.

  Semper Fi

  Prologue

  An unknown time in a place with no name

  "Send me back!"

  Piercing blue eyes nailed Faith with such intensity that she shivered. The man before her formed an imposing silhouette against the bright light. His anger would have made the walls shake, if they had walls about them.

  "It's not that simple, Colonel."

  "I've been wandering around here for days. Make it simple!" He barked the order, and Faith snapped to attention in her seat.

  The man had every right to be angry. She had made one hell—er, pardon—of a mistake on her first solo assignment, and knew of no sure way to fix it. She'd tried to explain that she wasn't cut out for this kind of work, but her superior hadn't listened.

  And now, despite her best intentions, her gross incompetence had pulled Lieutenant Colonel Jonathan Ramsey from earth before his time.

  She flipped through the pages of the wordless book that floated in the air beside her, telling the life story of her charges. So much was left to be written. She prayed that an answer would show itself. But she'd been so eager, she hadn't realized…"I just wanted to save you the agony. The explosion caught us all off guard."

  "My men will be looking for me. I have to be there."

  She shrugged, suspecting he wouldn't understand her explanation. "Your comrades won't find you. Your fate is determined."

  "But I saw Hawk. I talked to him…”

  Her silence transformed his confusion into anger. The colonel grabbed the tattered remnants of his bloody shirtfront, thrusting the material toward her in frustration. "I've survived worse than this. I always make it home!"

  Faith shrugged her shoulders in mute apology. In her effort to spare the noble career soldier a painful death, she had snatched his spirit the moment the grenade detonated.

  Unfortunately, she had snatched him too soon. She had cheated him of his final moments on earth.

  Now Jonathan Ramsey, respected leader and family man, stood before her just as the other man in the blast, a notoriously elusive arms-dealer, limped his way through a similar process in a very different, much darker place.

  The colonel pulled something from the pocket of his jungle fatigues and moved closer. "Look, lady"—his tone softened and cracked in a way that made her heart turn over. "Ma'am."

  He unfolded a nylon wallet and stuck it between her and the book. "I'm married to the sweetest woman in the world, with legs so long and fine a man can't even begin to describe them."

  Faith looked at the picture, seeing it through his eyes, understanding the longing in his voice.

  "We have a little girl who'll be two on December twenty-fourth. I bought a swing set to put together for her in the spring. I promised them I'd be home for Christmas to celebrate with them. I don't want to disappoint my little girl."

  The serenely beautiful woman in the photograph held an infant with sable curls like her mother's and the clear blue eyes that she had inherited from her father.

  Faith swallowed back tears she wasn't allowed to shed. She glanced at the colonel's sorrowful expression and on up into the bright nothingness above her. "We're talking Christmas," she pleaded.

  The light from above spun around them, flashing with tints of blue and yellow. Faith returned to the book. She turned back two pages. Inspired. "I may know a way."

  "How?" The colonel pocketed his wallet and looked over her shoulder. She doubted he could make sense of the images swirling across the translucent pages. But he concentrated on them anyway, as alert and intense as a man who led others would be before a decisive battle.

  "I'm not sure I should do this." Faith sat back, debating the wisdom of her decision. "But maybe if I help the other one redeem himself that will make up for…Oh, I don't know if I can."

  The colonel knelt beside her, his deep, calm breathing steadying her own. "You have to try. You have to give me a chance."

  Faith frowned at her dilemma. "There's a rule about balance. Two men died down there. I'd have to send two men back. I'd have to send him back, too."

  "The Chameleon?" The potential menace of the dealer who had chosen to take his own life instead of surrendering, and had taken the colonel with him, became evident in the cold narrowing of the colonel's eyes.

  "Maybe we can save him, redeem him," Faith said, "but I've never done this before." The heavenly light that surrounded them began to dim. "I know it's not an easy decision. But it has to be made quickly."

  "We'd arrive after the explosion?"

  Faith nodded. "You can't go back and change what's already happened."

  The colonel pushed himself to his feet. "My unit tracked him down once. We could do it again."

  The light around them wavered. "Hurry, Colonel. Decide.”

  He rubbed his palms against his eyes, his shoulders sagging in a moment of defeat. "Em has so many responsibilities. I haven't always been around when she's needed me. But the Chameleon…A lot of people have died because of him. It took us so long to catch him—I don't know how long it would take to do it again. I'm the only one who knows what he looks like. How many people might die?"

  Faith looked at the fading images in her own book.

  His question hovered in the air. Then the colonel straightened, steeling himself. "Send me back."

  Faith nodded.

  "Is there anything I should do to help?" he asked.

  "Pray."

  He closed his eyes. Faith felt strengthened by the power of his simple wish, but this was still a complicated process.

  She pressed her palms together, feeling the air between them grow warm. When it became more than she could bear, her hands parted and a circle of light emerged. It swelled and brightened like a thousand suns, glowing intensely and triggering a low humming sound, a life force blossoming in the air around them. It swirled into tornadic spirals, escaped from her and seized the colonel in its midst. Faith shielded her eyes as he vanished in a burst of white-hot lightning.

  An instant later, she could breathe again. She opened her eyes, once more alone in her citadel at the outer reaches. She leaned back, amazed at the complexity of the whole ordeal.

  The atmosphere changed, bleeding color into a place that knew no sunset. She understood the message even though she heard no audible words. "I know. No wings today."

  A piercing light beamed onto the open page, reflecting into her eyes before the book slammed shut. Faith gasped at what she had seen. "Oh, my God. What have I done?"

  The air around her blinked. She looked up. "Sorry."

  Faith dropped her face into her hands, dismayed by her inability to do her job right. She'd broken the rules and screwed up badly—again. And now a good man and his family would pay the price.

  She shifted her hands into a gesture of supplication. "By all that's holy, I swear to protect everything the colonel loves to the best of my ability."

  If he knew what she'd done, the colonel might have refused Faith's assistance. But with the future she'd just given Jonathan Ramsey, he'd need all the help he could get.

  Chapter One

  The Present

  Drew Gallagher shifted on the cold stone bench, stretching his long legs into a more comfortable position. After five hours on stakeout, he felt about as comfortable as the men who had worn the suits of armor on display in front of him must have.

  He'd already studied them in detail. He'd memorized every hinge, every clamp, every bit of protective shielding on those figures hours ago. Just as he'd analyzed a
nd catalogued every visitor, volunteer, and employee who strolled along the black marble halls of the Nelson-Atkins Art Gallery in Kansas City, Missouri.

  He sighed. This sorry case he was working on didn't fall into his usual area of expertise. Anybody could do a simple stakeout. He preferred the challenge of going undercover, assuming a new identity, becoming whoever he needed to be. At that, he was an expert. The charge of danger electrified him, gave him a focus, made him feel alive.

  Lying in wait for a suspect who might not even show up was a tedious assignment by comparison. It gave him too much time to think, too much time to ask questions. And too much time to realize how few answers he had.

  The D.A.'s office must be falling behind to hire a freelancer like himself. And since his own private investigation business had slowed during the post-holiday season, he'd taken them up on their offer. He didn't need the money. He needed the favor in his portfolio. He'd made a couple of questionable moves on his last case, and a little brown-nosing with the county courts might ease their scrutiny of his work.

  Otherwise, he wouldn't be here. All Drew had to do was wait for Stan Begosian to show his face, then record the man's activities for the alleged child pornography case they were putting together against him.

  "Here we have examples of medieval suits of armor." The tour guide's voice broke into his thoughts, the over-rehearsed monologue a slight distraction in his continuing surveillance of the room. It was the third group of students to come through in the last hour. First- or second-graders, judging by the size of them. About the same age as Begosian's usual victims.

  "Are these ch-children's sizes?" A dark-haired girl, front and center of the group, whispered the question.

  "No." The guide laughed. "This armor was built for full-grown men, the warriors of their time. The average size of humans has increased over the years."

  "Are they from the eleven hundreds?" one boy asked.