Into the Night

by Suzanne Brockmann

  And that was good news. Confusion always helped. In this case it was the United States with their “No, we don’t do racial profiling” promises, even as they did just that, that were muddying the waters. He was willing to bet that all of the “several others” questioned would be of Arabic descent.

  While Husaam Abdul-Fataah, formerly known as Warren Canton from Lenexa, Kansas, aka Bob Schwegel, or Luke Daniels, or John Manning, or Doug Fisk, was nowhere near the list of suspects.

  And he was determined to stay that way.

  As Husaam watched, Sam Starrett pulled into his driveway and went inside his house. The sun was starting to set, but there was still no sign of Mary Lou.

  A few minutes later, the radio announcer said that a new Pentagon briefing revealed that holes had been cut in the fence surrounding the parade grounds. The gunmen and their weapons were believed to have entered the secure area that way, directly from the Navy base. Officials believed the three men had entered the base as part of a tour group, and remained in hiding there for four, possibly five days prior to the attack.

  That was uncomfortably close to the truth, and Husaam started his car and pulled away.

  It was time to get out of Dodge. To keep a low profile for a while.

  Mary Lou would have to wait.

  Vince had to sit with part of his buttocks centered on a plastic blow-up kiddie flotation ring, which, in his eyes, lacked a certain dignity for a gentleman of his years.

  To make matters worse, Charlotte was holding a press conference right there in their living room with a reporter from the San Diego Union-Tribune.

  Joan and Mike had come over, too, although they both looked about ready to drop. Over at the hospital, they’d made Charlie the happiest grandmother in the world by announcing their plans to get married.

  They now sat on the couch, holding hands.

  As they all gathered there in the living room, Charlie told their entire story—Vince’s quest to talk to Senator Howard about Tarawa, his illness, their friendship that became something more. She’d even told the tale of Upstairs Sally.

  She spoke at great length about the unsung bravery of the Underwater Demolition Teams—UDT men—throughout the war, about the important part they’d played clearing the beaches during the Normandy invasion and their vital roles in the Pacific island-hopping campaign.

  She talked about James, about her unbearable grief after losing him, about her heartache as she thought of him dying so far from home and so terribly alone.

  “I wasn’t looking to fall in love again,” she told them, told Vince, too. She looked right at him as she spoke. “But there he was. A young man who was so very special. My mother-in-law, Edna Fletcher, loved Vince, too, right from the first moment they met.

  “Well, time came for him to go off to join the UDT training down in Florida. I’m ashamed to say that I took him to the train without so much as a kiss good-bye. I cried about that all the way home. And then I cried some more when I found out he’d left behind a letter asking me again to marry him. I have it here.”

  Charlie opened the notebook that was in front of her, and sure enough, there was his letter, carefully saved for all these years.

  He knew she’d saved James’s letters. He hadn’t dared to hope she’d saved his.

  “May I read some of it aloud?” she asked.

  “Please,” the reporter said.

  “I was asking my husband,” she told the young man gently.

  Vince nodded. God, he’d labored over that letter, trying to get it just right.

  Joanie sat forward as Charlotte cleared her throat.

  “Dear Charlotte,

  “I love you. I’ve never said those words to anyone before, let alone written them down on paper, but it’s true.

  “I love you and I continue to hope that someday you will marry me. In fact, I’ll ask you again. Will you be my wife?”

  She glanced up. “Skipping forward a little…

  “I need you to know, my dearest, that if I am to die, I will not die alone. You are part of me now. You are in my heart. I know that you love me. I know this is true—whether you know it yourself or not. And that knowledge will be with me always. Your love for me will be my constant companion, along with my memories of the beautiful night we shared.” She looked up at him, glanced at Joan, too. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag about that part of the story. It will keep me warm from now until the day I die—whether that day is tomorrow or a hundred years from tomorrow.”

  Over on the couch, Mike put his arm around Joan, and she rested her head against his shoulder.

  “I go willingly to this fight. I go to keep my country—and you!—safe and free. If I die, it will not be in vain. I believe this completely. And like James before me, I know you will live on. I can picture you at forty, Charles. And at sixty and even eighty, and you will still be so beautiful to me. I hope I am there to see you, to share your life and to love you until we are both old and gray. But if I am not, I hope you will have the strength to live a good life, filled with love and hope and laughter, for me.

  “Always yours, and always with you, too, Vince.”

  Charlotte put down his letter.

  She cleared her throat. “Naturally, as I read that, I cried and cried. And then I cried even more because I knew without a doubt that I’d fallen in love with this young man.

  “It was different than my love for James, but in its own way it was just as strong, just as powerful, and just as wonderful.

  “But I was young and foolish and I had absolutely no idea on earth what to do.

  “That night Edna came into my room. My dear mother-in-law. And she sat down with me and do you know what she said?”

  Vince shook his head, his heart in his throat. She’d never told him this before. They’d never talked about any of it, about his letter or her decision to come to Fort Pierce to find him. He’d just accepted her into his life, assuming that her pregnancy had been what had pushed her into their marriage.

  “She gave me permission to let go of James,” Charlie told him. She wasn’t even pretending to talk to the reporter anymore. “She told me to put him—her beloved, precious son—into the past, to remember him with love, but now to move on. She gave me permission—she used those very words—to let myself love you.”

  There were tears in her eyes. “She told me that if James had lived, I would’ve had a good life—but it would have been a hard life. James wasn’t easy to live with. Like his father before him, he was selfish and demanding and never satisfied—this a mother’s view of her own son! She said that James had loved me with all his heart, but that our life would have been filled—like her own had been—with battles and uphill climbs. She told me, with the wisdom of her years, that most relationships were terribly hard work, but that every so often two people meet and click and it’s obvious they’re meant for each other. It’s clear that their life together will be a gift, filled with joy.”

  Over on the couch, Joan gave Mike a kiss.

  “Edna told me you would bring me that joy if only I’d let you.” Charlie smiled at Vince. “So I decided to let you. With yours and Edna’s help, I finally buried James. Your letter brought comfort to me because now when I thought of him, I no longer imagined him dying alone. Your letter made me believe that I was there, with him, in his heart, right to the very end.”

  She turned to the reporter. “So I made arrangements to travel to Fort Pierce. It took weeks to get a seat on a train going all the way to Florida, and while I was waiting for the opportunity, I discovered that Vince and I were going to be starting that family he’d said he’d always wanted a little bit sooner than I’d anticipated.

  “We were married right away, and I lived there, in Florida, with him while he completed his training.

  “It was the most emotional time of my life,” Charlie admitted. “As our time together grew shorter and shorter, I cried every single night because I couldn’t bear the thought of being apart from him. You see, I loved hi
m so very much.

  “That time when he left, I kissed him good-bye.”

  She certainly had.

  Vince sat on his floaty toy as the reporter asked some questions, as they all pretended not to notice that he was pretty steadily wiping the corners of his eyes.

  Charlie ended the interview like a queen, standing up and sweeping the reporter out of the room and out of the house.

  Joan and Mike said good night, Mike shaking Vince’s hand and Joanie giving him the fiercest of hugs. After promises to have dinner and lunch in the coming week, Charlie walked them to the door.

  They were alone then. She came back into the living room and sat down beside him, taking his hand. “So now—finally—you know. I can’t believe you spent nearly sixty years thinking—”

  Vince brought her fingers to his lips. “I was happy to be your second choice for sixty years.”

  “You may have come second, my dearest, but you never were my second choice. I’ve had a wonderful, grand, joyous life—just as Edna predicted.”

  Vince nodded. Together they’d had more than their share of good times along with the bad.

  “I wouldn’t change a single moment,” Charlie told him.

  “I might change that one time I got that stomach flu,” Vince said, and she laughed.

  “Okay. And I would change your mind about getting those hearing aids,” she said.

  “Done,” he said.

  She kissed him. “Thank you.”

  “I’d still like to go to Hawaii,” Vince told her. “If it’s all right with you…”

  Charlie kissed him again, longer this time. “As long as you’re there, it’s all right with me.”

  The sound of the doorbell woke Sam from a restless sleep.

  What the fuck…? It was barely 0600.

  Mary Lou wasn’t in bed beside him, and he sat up, remembering. She’d left a note on the kitchen table. He’d found it last night when he got home.

  Gone to Janine’s. That was all it said. She didn’t sign it, didn’t address it to him. Just, Gone to Janine’s.

  The doorbell rang again, and he swung his legs out of bed and pulled on the shorts he’d dropped right on the floor before going to sleep last night.

  First time he’d done that in well over a year. If he left his clothes on the floor, Mary Lou would pick them up and put them in the laundry. He would get a pair of shorts or jeans all comfortable and then she’d go and wash them and stiffen them up again.

  The doorbell rang again and again and again. Whoever was out there was really leaning on it.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming! Hold on!” he shouted as he headed down the hall, combing his hair out of his face with his fingers.

  It made sense that Mary Lou would escape and visit her sister now, when Sam had told her they had to sit down and talk. No doubt she hoped that that impending conversation would be forgotten while she was away.

  He opened the front door to find a man standing out there who was broader, taller, and blacker than Jazz Jacquette. He was an enormous man with hands like boxing gloves and a gold front tooth.

  “Lieutenant Roger Starrett?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Sam said, scratching the stubble on his chin.

  The man opened the screen and slapped an envelope into his hands. “You’ve been served.”

  “Served?” Shit. “Hey!” Sam caught the screen door before it bounced and went outside, but the man was already halfway to his car. “What’s this about?”

  He didn’t even turn around. “Not my business, man.”

  As he got into his car and pulled away, Sam opened the envelope and…

  Holy fuck. Mary Lou had filed for divorce.

  He read the damn thing again. Yes, she most certainly had.

  He sat down, right on his front steps, even more exhausted than he’d felt last night. It was the strangest thing. This was what he wanted for months—for nearly two years—wasn’t it? So why wasn’t he dancing? Why wasn’t he doing handstands?

  Because of that note on the kitchen table.

  Because Mary Lou had moved—that was no short visit—to fucking Florida.

  And Sam was going to be lucky if he saw his daughter once a year.

  And he also wasn’t dancing because all those last foolish hopes he’d had of being single again and calling Alyssa had been snuffed out when he’d gone to her room and come face-to-face with Max Bhagat.

  Sam went inside the house and closed the door. These days even when he won, he lost.

  Joan didn’t wake up until late in the morning.

  Mike was still sleeping, and she lay there for a long time watching the colors and lights from the sun on the ocean play across his face.

  “What am I going to do with you?” she whispered.

  It was barely loud enough for her to hear, yet he opened his eyes.

  Just like that he was awake. One minute, sleeping, the next, alert.

  “Are you a morning person?” she asked warily.

  His smile was pure sin. “I’m an any time of the day person.”

  Joan laughed. “That’s not what I meant.”

  He pulled her closer, nuzzling her throat. “Yeah, but it’s what I meant.”

  She kissed him, then pulled back to look searchingly into his eyes. “Are you really all right?”

  He released her, lying back on the bed with his hands up underneath his head. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s have this conversation.”

  What was he talking about? “Which conversation?”

  He sighed. “The one where you tell me that you saw me eliminate that target yesterday.”

  “Eliminate that target,” she repeated. “Yeah, Mike. I did see that.”

  “And here I am,” he said. “No different than I was before. And you don’t really understand how that could be, right?”

  She sat up, cross-legged. “There’s a lot I don’t know or understand about you. I’m looking forward to finding out all the little details, but…”

  “But…?” He was watching her with such tenderness in his eyes.

  “You told me it was okay to cry,” she said. “I just want to make sure that you know those same rules apply to you. I’m here if you need me. Whenever you need me.”

  His eyes got even softer. “Thank you, baby,” he said. “I do know that.”

  Joan nodded. “Good.” Next tough topic. “How are we going to deal with a bicoastal marriage?” she asked. “I mean, how are we really going to make this work?”

  “Your grandparents did okay,” Mike pointed out. “And they didn’t even get to see each other for over a year.”

  “They were fighting a war,” Joan said.

  “So are we,” he said quietly.

  She looked at him and didn’t try to hide what she was feeling. She knew he could see fear in her eyes. “I’m afraid that you’re going to die.”

  Mike nodded. “I’m afraid that you’re going to die, too,” he said. “There’s lots of danger in this world. Do you know it’s safer to be a SEAL than it is to ride in a car on a highway? More people die each day in traffic accidents than the entire list of SEAL casualties starting with Vietnam.”

  She had to smile. “Did you, like, look that information up on the Internet because you knew I’d freak out about this?”

  “Actually, I was guessing,” he said. “But it’s got to be true. The number of SEALs who have died in combat and in training combined is very small. We’re hard to kill, Joan.”

  She traced the edge of his bandage with her finger. “I know for a fact that you’re not bulletproof.”

  “No,” he said. “We’re not. We’re just really good.”

  “So how do we deal with this marriage thing? And don’t say phone sex.”

  “I know you like things to be planned out,” Mike told her, “but yesterday was a classic example of the way we’re trained to think on our feet. I think we’ll be able to do the same with our marriage. If it’s working, keep doing it; if it doesn’t, we stop and do so
mething else.” He reached for her, pulling her on top of him. “And the first thing we should do is make love as often as possible whenever we’re together.”

  She laughed. “I’m serious.”

  He kissed her. “So am I. We can have all of our conversations on the telephone, so that when we’re finally together we don’t have to talk—we can just make love nonstop.”

  She smiled. “Yeah, like I could ever shut you up. You talk more during sex than any other man in the entire world.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s…a new one for me. Am I…Is it obnoxious?” He was actually worried.

  Joan had to laugh. “Well, gee, let me think. You tell me how much you love me. You tell me how hot you think I am. You tell me how badly you want me. You ask me to marry you…Nah, it’s not obnoxious.”

  He kissed her again, and she reached for a condom.

  “Kind of puts a whole new spin on, ‘Baby, we need to talk,’” she said as she handed it to him.

  The smile Michael gave her was worth at least a thousand words.

  For a sneak peek

  at Suzanne Brockmann’s thrilling new novel,

  HOT TARGET,

  please read on.

  COSMO’S MOTHER was driving him crazy.

  Well, okay, to be fair, it wasn’t his mom, but rather her choice of music that had pushed him out of her condo, into his truck, and back down the 5, here to San Diego.

  He parked in the lot next to the squat, ugly building that held the offices of Troubleshooters Incorporated. The sun was warm on the back of his neck as he crossed to the door. As usual, it was locked—apparently Tommy Paoletti had had no luck yet finding a receptionist for his personal security company. But he had installed a system that would allow him to let people in without having to run all the way out to the door twenty times a day.

  A surveillance camera hung overhead, and Cosmo looked up at it, making sure Tommy would be able to see his face as he hit the bell.

  The lock clicked open as a buzzer sounded, and he went inside.