by Vicki Hinze
So what, you’re just going to back off? Forget her and what she means to you?
What else could he do?
Come on, man. Think about it. Commander Conlee assigned you—with Gabby’s best friend’s blessing—because you wouldn’t follow their cancellation orders. You were willing to fight for her life. Why aren’t you willing to fight for her heart?
Why wasn’t he?
Max stood up, paced a path between the stove and the fridge, alongside the table. He took life-defying risks all the time. It came with the job. If he could do that, he certainly could do this. The question was how?
He thought about it. Downed a cup of steaming hot coffee, and thought some more. Finally he knew what he needed to do. Grabbing the phone, he punched in the number and waited for the telltale ring.
“Gibson.”
“It’s Agent Grayson. Agent Kincaid and I are proud of you. That was quite a hunch you had, connecting the customs official and the fruit shipment. Catching the detail of the U.S. pins being used as a signal was decent work.”
“I’m just glad it panned out.”
“If you have a few minutes to spare, I need a quick favor.”
“Sure, Agent Grayson.”
“I need a photo—a recent one—of a man named Harlan T. Crumbsfield,” Max said, and then went on to explain where he could likely be found. “As soon as you get it, fax it to me at Gabby’s house.”
“Sure thing, sir. What’s the priority level?”
“One.” Max gave it the highest ranking without the first pang of guilt. For the first time in his life, his heart was on the line. To him, that made the cut and warranted the ranking.
The question was: Would he make the cut with Gabby?
Chapter Thirty-nine
Max was working in the yard, clearing the remnants of Darla’s revenge. He had bagged and stacked twigs and broken branches, and had moved on to raking up strewn leaves. The sunshine felt good on his back and the physical work was a healthy outlet for the inner tension. He had no idea how things would go with Gabby, whether they’d end up together or apart, and he hated not knowing.
She came outside carrying a glass of lemonade. “You’ve got an hour, then we’ve got to get ready for the fund-raiser at Elizabeth’s.”
“What is this one for?” Max asked. Gabby had told him that whenever Carnel Cove needed something, they held fund-raisers until they got it.
“Jackson needs money to hire a standby receptionist so Darlene and Christie can have a little time off. The budget is stretched too tight, so one or the other of them has to be on duty at all times.” Gabby smiled. “That demands a party, in the ladies’ book.”
“I kind of like that about them. They don’t complain, they find solutions. It’s … good.”
Gabby nodded. “Very good.”
Max bit his lower lip. “Miranda said something about the youth center needing a new boat motor, too.”
“A Yamaha,” Gabby said. “I forgot the numbers.” Cocking her head, she gave him a mischievous look. “Wanna buy them one to celebrate?”
“What are we celebrating?”
“That depends.” She passed the glass. “I thought you might be thirsty.”
He took it. “Thanks.” Parched, he swallowed a long draw, appreciating the cold sliding down his throat. She looked gorgeous … and scared to death. “You okay?” What did she want to celebrate?
She blinked hard and the green in her eyes darkened nearly to black. “No.”
“What’s wrong?” He leaned the rake against a stump and set the glass on it. She looked close to tears. Over the years, he’d seen many emotions from Gabby, but genuine tears hadn’t been among them. He didn’t like it. “Has something else happened?”
She toed the dirt at the base of the stump. “Commander Conlee called. Cardel Boudreaux got out of the country. Intel was reviewing customs tapes and found it a few hours ago. Apparently, he hit the border right after he blew up Candace’s Porsche. We lost track of him in South America.”
Was that what had her close to tears? That they’d missed Cardel Boudreaux? “We’ll have another shot at him. You know these guys always lay low for a while and then crawl out from under their rocks. When he does, we’ll find him, and we’ll follow him to the Consortium’s chairman—if there is a chairman.”
“I know.” Gabby sighed. “Patience. Persistence. Perseverance.”
She didn’t look more at ease; if anything she looked more upset. He reached over and hooked her chin with his thumb. “Talk to me, honey.”
“I didn’t lie about the evidence. I saw to it you would get it, even if you had killed me.”
“So you said.”
“I mailed you a note, Max, telling you where to find it. It’ll be waiting for you at your office when you get back to Washington.”
Definitely the memory return. Was that what she wanted to celebrate? Remembering? He wanted her recall restored, of course, but he didn’t want to lose her. His heart again rebelled at the possibility, and he patted at the piece of paper folded in his pocket. Dutch courage was better than none. But before he could decide what to do, Gabby claimed his attention.
“Commander Conlee is in negotiations for Home Base’s new headquarters.”
“Really?” He lifted the glass from the stump and took a drink. His throat felt parched. He could lie and call it thirst, but it wasn’t. It was fear. Fear of losing her and never again feeling what he felt with her.
She nodded. “You’re not going to be surprised.”
“Sublevel floors at Logan Industries?”
“You got it.” She smiled. Caressed his arm. “I think watching him and Candace is going to be entertaining. She doesn’t take anything off him.”
“He’s taking it easy on her because they’re negotiating. He wants tighter control on the lab; he has to get Home Base out of Washington and into a small town that’s relatively isolated from primary targets for security reasons; and there’s a perfect place between here and Abernathy’s cabin on the Federal Reserve for an underground bunker.”
“More than any of that, I think the commander is impressed with the resourcefulness of his Carnel Cove cell.”
“Another reason he wants Candace where he can watch her. He knows she’s going to track Cardel Boudreaux to the ends of the earth to bust his chops for intruding on her turf.”
“No doubt about it.” Gabby frowned then shrugged. “It’ll also allow him to let her live and keep her out of jail.”
Max nodded. “Seems fair, considering how she tried to keep those infected mosquitoes in the lab, knowing they would kill her.”
“Yes, it does.” Pleased, Gabby stepped closer to him and looked straight up into his face. “As partners go, you’re good, Max.”
“Yes, I am.”
“When you got to Carnel Cove, why didn’t you just kill me?” She sounded somber, not sad or accusing or angry, just serious.
“At first, I wasn’t convinced it was necessary, and I’d promised Vice President Stone I’d do all I could to avoid it.”
“You said at first.” She didn’t touch him, but she wanted to; she was squeezing her hand open and closed at her side. “What about after that?”
This is it. The big plunge. Swim or drown time, Max.
The last thing he needed was that reminder. “I didn’t want you to die,” he said simply.
“Why?” She pushed, knowing she was pushing.
He took her hands in his, thought for a moment for the words, and then let her see the truth in his eyes. “Because you’re the only woman in my whole life who has ever made me feel like you’d harness the universe for me.” He let his thumb slide along her jaw, earlobe to chin. “That’s too rare to lose, Gabby.”
“What about you?” She licked her lips, stared openly into his eyes. “Would you harness the universe for me?”
“I’m a mere mortal, honey.”
So he wouldn’t. Fighting disappointment, she trudged on, intent on making her cas
e. “You know, of course, that I remember some things now. I’m not sure I remember everything, or that I ever will, but my past isn’t a total mystery to me.” She let her gaze drift up to the trees, lifting her face to the gentle breeze. “Having cancellation orders issued on me had me looking into my memory box, Max. It was a real wake-up call.”
“It was for me too.”
She grunted. “I’m sure you were looking at more than a note from a fifth grader, a pair of wings, and a bunch of photos of oak seedlings.”
“Actually, I don’t even have a memory box.”
“Not at all?”
He gave her a negative nod.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m not wasting a good wake-up call. I want more.” She stuffed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “So much so that my mind played tricks on me. It wasn’t the virus, Max. Candace was worse and it didn’t impact her memory.”
“Keith said his researchers noted memory challenges, honey.”
“Short-term, true. But I didn’t remember you weren’t my husband, because I didn’t want to remember it.” She paused a moment, tried and failed to gauge his reaction, then went on. “I loved being married to you, Max. I loved feeling special to you.” Here was the hard part. God, keep me strong enough to get this out. Please! “I know we aren’t married now. But you are still special to me. I love you, Max.”
He stared at her, his jaw loose, his glass tipping.
Confusion twisted her expression, riddled her tone. “Are you okay, Max?”
“Um, yeah. Yeah, I’m, um, fine.” He passed her the folded piece of paper.
“What’s this?”
“A gift for your memory box.”
She unfolded the page and saw a man she didn’t recognize, who had obviously lived hard. He looked about fifty pounds overweight—jock gone to flab—and half drunk, chugging down a long-necked beer. “Who is this?”
“Harlan T. Crumbsfield,” Max said. “He’s twice divorced—cheated on them both—and he’s remarried again, though things aren’t going too well.”
“Oh?” Gabby tagged along to see where Max was going with this.
“Not well, at all, I’m afraid,” Max said. “Harlan had a little trouble with his women. Seems his wife took exception to his mistress coming to her home for a visit. The women brawled, and ended up sharing adjoining jail cells for a weekend. They’re out on bail now and after Harlan. He’s spent the last two weeks in protective custody at a shelter.”
“Ouch. That’s not such good news for Harlan, now, is it?”
“No, I’d say he’s going to have to be a little careful for a time.”
“Maybe forever.”
“Maybe.” Max brushed a thumb to Gabby’s cheek, smiled into her eyes. “Now aren’t you glad you saved being special for me? You could have been married to him.”
“Oh, Max.” Gabby laughed out loud. “Where did you find out all this?”
“Your favorite trainee and my conspirator, Gibson, got it for me.” Max nodded at the paper. “Did you read the note on the back?”
She flipped it over and read aloud. “I love you, Gabby. You’ll always be special to me. Marry me, and let’s build a life that keeps your memory box full.”
Her heart soared and she nearly floated. “Is that note from Harlan T.?”
“No, honey. It’s from me.” Max circled her in his arms and pulled her close. “Marry me, Gabby.”
“Why not?” Smiling from the heart out, Gabby looped her arms around his neck. “I’ve already married you five times. What’s one more?”
The corner of his mouth curled. “Right.”
“Right.” Gabby laughed aloud, happy and showing it.
Not that she thought for a second that life with Max would be a cakewalk; it wouldn’t. They were both strong people with strong wills. They shared dangerous jobs with very high risks. There would be hard times. Lots of them—it was inevitable.
But they would have love to soften and sustain them, stamina and determination to hold them steady to their course, and lighter burdens for sharing them with someone who cared. Together they would build a good life.
And share a memory box crammed full.
To Dr. Donald A. Urban,
Because a promise is a promise,
with a grateful and humble heart,
I offer you this book.
Acknowledgments
I must express my most sincere gratitude and appreciation to the following individuals and their staffs:
Dr. Donald A. Urban
Dr. Douglas J. Wirthlin
The University of Alabama Hospital
Dr. Mark Schroeder
Dr. Samuel Poppell
Dr. Ralph Zappada
Your willingness to share your expertise, skills, and knowledge has profoundly impacted my work and my life. Thank you.
I would be equally remiss if I neglected to thank my dear friends Lorna Tedder and Marge Smith for their support, expertise, and advice. My life is far richer because you are in it.
And my most humble gratitude to the Bantam dream team who worked on this book, including Kara Cesare, Anne Bohner, and Micahlyn Whitt.
Also by Vicki Hinze
LADY LIBERTY
ALL DUE RESPECT
ACTS OF HONOR
DUPLICITY
SHADES OF GRAY
About the Author
Vicki Hinze lives with her family in Florida, where she’s working on her next novel. Visit her website at www.vickihinze.com.
