Make Mine a Marine

by Julie Miller

  Don't fight it. Listen. Listen with your heart, not your head.

  "Stop saying that!" he snapped at the soft voice that played games inside his mind.

  "I didn't say anything." A different voice, equally soft but tinged with a deeper, huskier pitch, spoke beside him. Emma's voice.

  He dared to open his eyes and saw her backed against the far door. She still sat straight, but a hesitant frown grooved the worry lines beside her eyes. He couldn't quite find it within himself to ease her concern. The coincidence was too perfect, too frightening to ignore. "You said Tenebrosa?"

  "It's an island nation east of the Yucatan Peninsula of Mexico."

  "I know where Tenebrosa is."

  "Most people haven't heard of it. That was the target of Jonathan's last mission. It's a perfect place for illegal activities since it doesn't draw much attention to itself. It has few allies and little strategic importance."

  "You've got the travelogue memorized." Her recitation wasn't too different from what he'd learned in the research he'd done on the island.

  "Have you been there?" Her innocent question brought haunting memories flooding back.

  Drew's first conscious recollection was waking up in a hospital on Tenebrosa. He'd been full of tubes and needles, and bandaged from his neck to his hips and down most of his right arm. He'd ridden in an ambulance to an airstrip and flown on to Mexico City, where the skin grafts and stitching had continued in a more sterile environment. He'd gone back to the island after that first year, searching for a familiar face, a business person in town who recognized him, a place he felt at home.

  He found nothing.

  He remembered nothing

  He only knew that his life had started over again five years ago.

  On Tenebrosa.

  "Drew? Have you been to Tenebrosa?" He heard Emma's insistent voice like a distant echo. "Can you tell me anything about that place?"

  Drew ignored the careening abyss of his memories. He ignored the cautious mix of curiosity and concern on Emma's face.

  "Nothing you don't already know." The abruptness, of his response silenced her. He started the truck and drove her to her house, seizing on the one aspect of his life that made any sense. His work.

  "I'll check out Clayton Roylott. Maybe I can get some names from him."

  Emma's hand hovered at the door handle. She probably couldn't wait to get back to her normal suburban life, and as far away from him as she could get. He didn't blame her. He couldn't count the number of times he'd wanted to get away from his life himself.

  "You never told me how James Moriarty is a threat to LadyTech." Now her hesitation made sense. She was responsible to her friends and company, and determined to find the truth. Two qualities he couldn't help but admire.

  "He paid Begosian ten thousand dollars to buy stock in your company under the name John Clay a few days before he assaulted you at the Nelson Gallery. Any idea why?"

  She thought for a moment. "It would be an easy way, and a legal one, to get a report on the company without raising any suspicions. If this Moriarty's trying to get into LadyTech, it's a good place to start. Or if he purchased stock under an alias, he may be trying to buy up a controlling share."

  "You might be on to something."

  "It's impossible to do, though. Jas, BJ, and I retained fifty-one percent before we put it on the open market."

  "Moriarty may not know that."

  She nodded. "I'll watch the reports. See if any other big buys come up. Anything else?"

  With the variety of hells he'd endured this evening, one golden piece of heaven remained foremost in his mind. "Was it really so horrible that I kissed you?"

  The light from her front porch cast a shimmering glow across her alabaster cheek, capturing her down-turned eyes in a smoky shadow. "No."

  Her husky admission settled deep inside him, giving comfort to a soul that knew so little of her honest brand of kindness. She swallowed, drawing his gaze like a magnet to the graceful arch of her throat. "I understand that you wanted to hide our identities tonight," she said. "We were caught where we shouldn't have been. I even understand, and take responsibility for that kiss getting out of hand. I wanted… I haven't been held that way for a long time. But…"

  She held up her left hand and twisted it so the light reflected off the wedding band on her third finger. "This is why it can't happen again."

  He hardened his gaze on the unnecessary reminder of all that stood between them.

  Drew leaned back on his side of the truck cab, physically and emotionally pulling away from the temptation before him. He couldn't give her what she didn't want. And he didn't want what she wouldn't give willingly. "It won't happen again. You leave the dirty work to me, Mrs. Ramsey." He emphasized her married title, knowing he was just the means to an end for her, and could never be anything more to this particular woman. "I promise to mind my manners better."

  She curled her fingers into her palm. "I'll try to stay out of your way and let you work. But call me if you find out anything. I'll leave a pass at the front desk so you can come into the office on Monday without Brodie breathing down your neck."

  Drew dredged up a rusty laugh. "Be sure to tell him I'm working for you. I don't see me going one-on-one with him and coming out in very good shape."

  "I have a feeling you're the kind of man who always lands on his feet."

  The hint of a smile curved the corners of her mouth. Any compliment from Emma warmed and strengthened him like high praise. But since the smile never reached her eyes, Drew tamped down on his ego's immediate reaction. He traded an observation with her instead. "You're pretty resilient yourself."

  Her eyes widened like the huge buttons on the front of her coat. "Jonathan taught me how to be that way. He saved my life in more ways than I can count."

  Despite his growing jealousy, Drew was grateful to Emma's missing husband.

  "Find him, Drew. I owe you a debt because you rescued my daughter and you rescued me. But I owe my husband a debt, too. Find him soon."

  Emma slipped out of the car and hurried to the front door. She unlocked it and disappeared inside before he made any attempt to move. I owe you a debt. He supposed that was as close to an admission of gratitude as he would ever get from her. He had no right to hope that she might, one day, feel something more. No right to wish that some woman, equally gentle and strong and bright and beautiful, would have the same kind of faith in him.

  He slid the truck into gear and left the light of Emma's home to return to his world of darkness. Jonathan Ramsey had better be one hell of a guy to deserve Emma's loyalty.

  To deserve Emma, period.

  * * *

  Faith tucked the covers around her young charge and the hand-sewn doll cradled so lovingly in her arms. The doll was a tiny replica of Kerry herself with brown yarn hair and embroidered blue eyes.

  "Oh, dear." She sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze focused on an unseen point in the distance until Kerry tugged on her sleeve and captured her attention. "What is it?"

  "Things aren't going exactly the way I had in mind. Your mother and Mr. Gallagher aren't working together very well."

  "But Drew's nice."

  "I know, sweetie." She reached down and smoothed the bangs from Kerry's forehead, absorbing strength from the hopeful blue eyes that looked up at her. Kerry's lip pouted and she looked at her doll. Faith got the message and smoothed yarn bangs as well. "That's what makes it so hard for your mom."

  Kerry shrugged her shoulders, enlightening Faith with seven-year-old wisdom. "He's not a very good reader. He made up words that weren't in the book. But I liked his story better. When Mom reads it, the frog turns into a prince. But when Drew told it, the princess turned into a frog."

  Faith's laughter faded before Kerry's. The old fairy tale seemed like a sordid retelling of the horror story she'd inadvertently created for Jonathan Ramsey. Still, she kept her promises. She'd watched over Emma and Kerry because Jonathan had loved them so. She'd dropped cl
ues and created distractions and used every power available to her to reunite the family so horribly torn asunder.

  But since little Kerry was the only human she could clearly communicate with, her options were limited. She doubted that Emma or Jonathan would believe the direct approach, anyway, and listen to her explanation of the truth.

  No, she had to bargain and scheme and push and pry. And none of those qualities would help her earn her wings.

  The nightlight beside the bed shuddered. Faith threw her hands wide and spoke to the light. "That is the idea, isn't it? I learn my lesson? Get my wings?"

  "Faith?" A small hand clasped her fingers. "Are you in trouble?"

  "Seems I always have been, sweetie."

  "I’ll put in a good word for you when I say my prayers tomorrow night."

  Kerry's innocent trust reminded Faith of the reason she had interfered in the Ramseys' lives in the first place. "Thanks." She squeezed the girl's hand to reassure her. "I hope putting Mr. Gallagher on the case will help your mom find the truth faster."

  The girl's big yawn signaled the end of her visit. Faith kissed Kerry's cheek and the little doll tucked in beside her. She gathered herself into a gentle light and floated to the foot of the bed.

  "Faith?"

  "Hmm?"

  "Angelica doesn't have any wings, either."

  Faith smiled at the toy's name. "Your doll? That because she's not an angel, sweetie."

  "Will you get your wings when my mom is happy again?"

  "That's not up to me."

  Kerry rolled onto her side, her eyelids already heavy with sleep. "If you don't get any, I'll make you some. Okay?"

  The urge to cry swelled inside her and burned her throat. But she had no time for tears. "I'd like that, Kerry. I'd like that very much. And when I get mine, I'll be sure Angelica gets her wings, too."

  So much faith for one so small. Faith felt her power grow, strengthened by one little girl's hopes and dreams.

  This time, she would not fail. Come… oops—she glanced up and apologized before the word slipped out—high water, she would not fail. Of course, that meant working a bit harder, thinking more clearly, planning more carefully.

  She drifted to the top of the stairs, and eased Emma's tired tread with an invisible kneading of her shoulders. Emma turned at the comforting gesture, but Faith knew she saw nothing.

  Once mother and daughter had said their good nights, Faith hurried from the house and sped toward her last best chance to turn this whole mess around.

  Her good intentions were a test she'd failed one too many times, on earth, and at the citadel. She had her work cut out for her.

  She'd keep trying until she got it right.

  She'd keep trying until someone who could make a difference believed in the truth.

  She'd keep trying until Jonathan Ramsey came home.

  Chapter Six

  Emma sat pretzel-style on the study floor, half buried in the stacks of letters and photo albums. The tissue box beside her had been opened and put to use, though she felt a twinge of guilt to see that the box was still nearly full. Three or four years ago, even six months ago, the box would be half empty. But as the evening outside blackened into the deepest part of night, she discovered she had less of a need to cry, and more of a willingness to say goodbye, to pack these things up with loving care and store them in the attic instead of the easy access of the hall closet.

  She turned the page of the photo album in her lap and traced the pictures with careful reverence. Her gaze touched on an image of a windblown Jonathan, standing tall and broad with that ready smile on his face. Bits of leaves and twigs clung to his short, dark hair and bright red sweater. Emma touched her finger to the spot where his hand rested over her tummy in the picture. Her pregnancy with Kerry was just beginning to show. He was home between missions and quite enamored of her rounding figure.

  Raking leaves had become an impromptu opportunity for them to roll together in a pile while he kissed her senseless. Jas and her camera had come along just in time to remind them that the backyard was a fairly public place. Even in the photograph, Jonathan's blue eyes twinkled with the promise of more to come, and she remembered him resuming the seduction later that night.

  Emma closed her eyes and tried to recapture the joy of that day so long ago. Though ten years her senior, Jonathan had rejoiced like a kid at the prospect of becoming a daddy. God, how he had loved his little girl. Building things for her, collecting trinkets from around the world, writing her little notes even before she was born.

  He might have been part of Kerry's life for only two years, but the bond between father and daughter had been full of promise and love. Not at all like Emma's relationship with her father, who'd come home some nights and looked right through her as if she were a stranger.

  She pushed the unpleasant thought from her mind and closed the book. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to fixate on the memory of making love that night of the picture. Jonathan's hands skimming her legs, his fingers buried in her hair, his kiss...

  … was raw and purely sensual, surprising himself as much as her, judging by the guttural gasp deep in his throat. His beard stubble grazed her skin along the arc of her neck, pricking her with the tantalizing anticipation of the moist warmth of his lips to follow. And when he found that bundle of nerves at the base of her throat, she forgot about everything else except the sensation of enveloping heat closing around her, rising within her. She pressed herself to his solid length, her body awakening from its self-imposed hibernation to the lure of someone stronger, someone harder than she. Awakening to the utterly female rush of needy hands on her back and legs. Awakening to the erotic feel of long blond hair tangled in her bare fingers.

  Awakening to Drew Gallagher's passion.

  "Oh, God." Her eyes snapped open, and she clapped her hand to her mouth in a wry mimicry of Drew's gloved hand covering her mouth and silencing her. Good God, what had she done?

  Last night, he'd meant to keep her quiet so as not to reveal their presence. Twenty-four hours later, she was trying to stifle her own treacherous thoughts. Even now, her skin tingled with heat inside her sweater. She couldn't blame the uncomfortable temperature on the dying embers in the fireplace. Her breathing didn't grow ragged at the memory of the danger she'd escaped last night, but at the memory of her instantaneous need to be kissed and held by a man. A man who thrived on danger. A man who talked tough. A man unlike her husband in every way except one.

  He made her feel safe.

  Jonathan had smiled and cajoled and bargained and demanded his way through two years of courtship with her, breaking down each defensive barrier, whittling down her wall of distrust, until she realized she could be safe with a man. She could give him her body, her heart, and her soul, and know that all three would be cherished by him.

  She'd known Drew Gallagher for all of two days, and already she'd made the mistake of dropping her guard and allowing her body to react to his touch in a basic, elemental, wanton kind of way. That was all it could be, she warned herself. A physical attraction. And she'd given into it because this rough, no-holds-barred, take-no-prisoners man of mystery and darkness had somehow managed to make her feel safe.

  "Oh, God." She repeated the little prayer and opened the album once more, staring at Jonathan's picture, willing his image to replace the clearer, fair-haired likeness of Drew Gallagher in her mind

  Spreading her fingers, she traced her wedding ring with her thumb, reminding herself of all it represented. The action couldn't help but remind her how Drew had taken her hand in the back room of Lucky's and squeezed it tight, telling her to be strong. He'd rubbed her palm with the rough pad of his thumb, teasing her senses, earning her trust, sharing his strength.

  She had waved the ring in Drew's face last night, warning him to keep an impersonal distance. Why couldn't she follow her own request? Why did she have to be so drawn to him? Why did she feel she needed him, as she had needed no other man before or since Jonathan? />
  Maybe she should refuse his offer to help find Jonathan, hire someone else. But, on his own, he'd already uncovered more new leads than a cadre of detectives and officials had turned up in three years.

  "I can do this," she told herself, rolling the tension from her shoulders and stiffening her spine. "I can work with him as a professional. Keep everything polite and impersonal."

  Her pep talk fell on skeptical ears. Her problem with Drew Gallagher was that she'd already let things get way too personal.

  "M-Mom?"

  She slammed the album closed and spun around on her bottom, startled as if Kerry had somehow read her mind and caught her thinking of a man other than her father.

  "Sweetie." She waited for the breathiness to subside from her voice, then reached out to Kerry. "It's after midnight. What are you doing out of bed?"

  Kerry plunked down on Emma's lap and wrapped herself in her lavender blanket and her mother's hug. "I w-wanted a drink."

  Emma frowned above her daughter's head, wondering what was really going on. "I left your cup of water on the bedside table."

  "You w-weren't in your bed." She snuggled closer. "Are you b-being sad?"

  "Oh, sweetie." She wrapped herself around Kerry's petite frame and hugged her close. "I’m just fine. What made you think I was sad?"

  "Be-c-cause Faith can't get her wings."

  Kerry rose and fell with Emma's sigh of frustration. "Your friend Faith has wings?"

  "No. She says you have t-t-to be happy before she can get them."

  Kerry's verbal language had emerged at a young age. Before the age of two, she'd begun to put together long phrases and complex thoughts without a trace of a stutter. Imaginary friends hadn't existed then, either.