Danger Zone: Tales of Military Passion

by Marie Harte

  She waved a hand at the trash can. “This is the kind of stuff he would do. Leave little mementos to let me know he had been there. And it’s the kind of cola he would drink.”

  When she peered at John’s face, she was surprised to see it was contorted by fury. “Why didn’t somebody do something about it?” he snapped.

  Shannon blinked in surprise. “Well, they did, eventually. But Ohio had very few laws on the books at that time that applied to stalking. They couldn’t do much until the gun came into play. Believe me, my family did everything they could.”

  She dared to reach out and rest her hand on his granite-hard deltoid. All of his muscles were tensed and solid, and he still had a frown on his face. He glanced at her hand on his shoulder, and took a deep breath, visibly trying to relax. He took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze before he turned away.

  Shannon was stunned. She’d expected him to shove her hand away in anger or something. John seemed to make it a point never to touch her, even in the most mundane of circumstances, and it hurt sometimes. The squeeze had been sweet, and unless she was mistaken, his fingers had wanted to linger.

  Hers definitely had.

  She took a deep breath and turned back to the refrigerator. “Since I dragged you out on this crappy night, can I at least make you some dinner?”

  John looked intrigued for a minute, then shook his head. “Nah, that’s okay, Shannon. I didn’t come over here for you to cook for me.”

  She shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. Inside, she hoped desperately he would stay a little bit longer, and not because she was spooked. “I have to eat too. And it will give me something to do. I was going to warm up some chicken and noodles I made the other night.”

  For a long moment, he just stared at her, silently. “What kind of chicken?”

  Shannon smiled. “Parmesan chicken tenders, no bone, and egg noodles I made last night.”

  “Okay,” he grumbled. “You talked me into it. That sounds good.”

  And it was good. Everything was warmed up and plated within ten minutes. Shannon defrosted some of her mother’s homemade rolls from the freezer, and steamed some peas in a bag. John didn’t say a word as he started to eat. Shannon smiled when he cleaned his plate and dished out a second helping of everything. What was it about feeding a man that made a woman feel good?

  John sat back in his chair, with a hand across his flat belly. “I can’t eat any more. That was wonderful.”

  “I’m glad you liked it.”

  “I mean every word of it. It’s better than anything I’ve ever had before.”

  Shannon felt her brows lower skeptically. “Oh, please. I’m an okay cook, but certainly not fantastic.”

  “After MREs, hospital food and take-out, believe me, this is ambrosia.”

  Shannon tipped her head forward. “Well thank you very much for the compliment, John. It’s the least I could do.”

  She took a piece of chicken over to the box in the corner and broke it into little pieces. One she gave to the mother, and the others to each of the kittens. John rolled over behind her, and peered down into the box. He scowled as he watched them spit and hiss at each other. “Why are they doing that?” he demanded.

  Shannon smiled and separated two of the kittens. “Well, they haven’t been eating solid food very long, and they’re trying to establish a pecking order. They don’t usually hurt each other.”

  She handed a small gray bundle of fur to John. “This is the runt of the litter, and I try to feed her a little more than the others.”

  John held the kitten awkwardly in front of him. The young cat’s paws batted the air, looking for something to claw into.

  “No, no, hold her against you, like this.”

  She settled his hand against his chest and shaped his fingers around the little creature’s bottom. Shannon didn’t even realize how close she had moved to John until she looked up and found him staring at her. Hard. With those heavy black brows furrowed and his dark eyes full of burning emotion.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, and pulled away quickly. She snatched another kitten out of the box and tucked it under her chin.

  John’s kitten started to purr.

  “What’s it doing now?” he demanded.

  Shannon laughed at the ferocious frown on his face. “Relax,” she told him gently, “she’s just purring. It means she’s comfortable and likes what you’re doing.”

  John eased back in his chair and eyed the cat.

  “Haven’t you ever had a cat?” she asked him curiously.

  John’s face lost all expression, and a subtle tension eased into the air. “No, I haven’t. Animals weren’t allowed at the boy’s home where I grew up.”

  “Oh.” Shannon felt like a heel as the revelation about his childhood settled into her. It explained so much of who he was.

  “I didn’t mean to dig things up,” she told him finally.

  John shrugged and stroked the kitten on the top of its head with a huge finger. “No big deal. You didn’t know.”

  “So, have you ever had any pets?” she asked finally.

  John shook his head. “None. There was a stray dog I used to toss scraps to outside my window at the orphanage, but he wasn’t around very long before the pound caught him.”

  Shannon felt her eyes fill with helpless tears. How very sad. No animals in his life at all, and the one small contact he had destroyed by the dog catcher. She still had three horses at her parent’s house in Colorado Springs she needed to decide what to do with. She’d always had animals in her life. From hamsters and hermit crabs as a child to horses and cattle she showed in 4-H in her teenage years. Actually, she couldn’t remember ever not having an animal in her life.

  John fondled the kitten around the ears, and the little animal purred just as loud as she could, her eyes slitted shut in rapture. Shannon knew she would do the same thing if John handled her that way too.

  “She really likes you,” she told him softly.

  John made a non-committal grunt, but he continued to run his big fingers gently over her coat.

  “You know,” Shannon murmured, “I’m going to have to find homes for these before too long.”

  John immediately held the kitten out to her. “No, thank you. You’ll find a better home for it than with me.”

  Reluctantly, she took the dangling kitten from his hand. She wouldn’t push him on it. They wouldn’t be ready to wean for a couple of weeks yet, anyway. Setting the two gently in the box, she turned back to John.

  And caught him as he glanced away from her ass.

  Shannon felt heat wash across her cheekbones. There was no hiding her curves, but she couldn’t help smoothing her hands over her slacks in embarrassment. She turned away from John and went to gather dirty dishes to put in the dishwasher.

  John rolled around her and started to hand her things to put in. Shannon appreciated that he put forth the effort. He didn’t seem the type to do kitchen chores. Neither said anything about what happened seconds before, but a subtle awareness had crept into the air.

  “Thank you, John. You didn’t have to help.”

  He shrugged. “I ate the food. It’s only right I help clean up.”

  Nothing more was said as her kitchen was set right. John went over and, after a last, thorough look at the trash can, lifted the bag from the can. Shannon was thankful that he did that, too. It was one less reminder that something wasn’t right in her home. He rolled to the garage door and tossed it into the wheeled refuse can.

  “I should probably go, and let you have your evening. Will you be okay?”

  Shannon knew he had to leave, but it still made her sad. She liked having John in her house, for whatever reason.

  “Yes, I’ll be fine,” she sighed. “I really appreciate you coming over.”

  John waved a big hand in dismissal before he powered himself through the dining room. He was almost through the living room by the time she caught up with him. He stopped suddenly and leaned over a
picture frame on an end table. Shannon knew it was a group shot of her family.

  “This is my dad Charles,” she said, pointing to the strapping gray-haired man with his arm around an older woman. “My mom, Elizabeth. My sister Abigail. And my younger brother Chris.” Her finger brushed lovingly over the smiling young man in the wheelchair. “I’m five years older than he is. He was kind of a surprise. My parents planned on having just us two girls. Mom was in her forties when she got pregnant again unexpectedly. When they found out they were having a boy, they were so excited. And we were too.”

  Shannon smiled at John and folded her arms under her breasts. “I owe my brother my life. He was there the night Gerbowski tried to kidnap me, at my parent’s house. We used to live outside of Columbus. Mike was holding me hostage when Chris found us. Luckily, my parents were away on a trip, or it could have been so much worse. Chris grabbed my dad’s pistol out of the truck when he saw Mike’s car in the driveway. And when he realized what was going on, Chris shot at him, but Mike fired back at the same time. Mike’s bullet entered Chris’s spine, paralyzing him. Chris’s bullet went center mass, nicked an artery, deflated a lung. Enough to make Mike let me go. After dealing with months of his obsession, we all hoped he would die before the ambulance got there, but he didn’t. We got Chris to the hospital within minutes of the injury, but he was still paralyzed. The bullet is still in his spine. They didn’t want to take it out for fear they would damage him more. Mike, on the other hand, is fine. Three square meals a day and all the cable he can watch in prison.”

  Shannon looked at John. “Isn’t that a sad thing to say, wishing death on another person? He terrorized me for months, and if he was here, I would blow him to pieces in a heartbeat.”

  “You can’t help how you feel,” John grumbled. “The guy put you through hell. Your whole family. Of course you’d wish him gone. If he is responsible, I promise you, he won’t hurt you again. Not with me watching.”

  Shannon smiled sadly. “Thank you, John. I appreciate that.”

  She watched as he slipped on the jacket he had discarded on the back of the couch, covering the shoulder holster. “Did you carry a Beretta in the Marines?”

  John’s sat back in his chair, surprised. “Yes.”

  Shannon nodded her head. “It’s a very good gun.”

  She laughed at the look on his face. “I have the same gun in my bedroom safe. Though I prefer my little Beretta Bobcat, .25 caliber. Dad made sure I could protect myself if I ever got into that situation again.”

  John smiled slightly as he turned away. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

  She laughed and watched as he rolled down the ramp to his black truck. He pulled a remote from his pocket and pressed a button, and the whole side of the truck seemed to move! He rolled into the contraption and it lifted him up, then slid him inside behind the wheel. Fascinating. She watched until he’d pulled away, then shut and double-locked the door.

  As she wandered back through the house, Shannon felt decidedly better since John had gone through it. The violation she had felt was eased, replaced by a warm spot in her heart that he had created. She appreciated that he had come to her house, though he hadn’t stayed nearly long enough.

  *

  JOHN CURSED AS he clutched his jacket around himself and rubbed his hands together. If he’d known he was going to stake out her house, he’d have prepared better. Warmer jacket, thermos of coffee. NoDoz pills, maybe. Since he’d been out of the military, he’d gotten used to comfort. And regular schedules. It was 3 a. m. and sleep dragged him down, bad.

  Hell, he may be out here for no reason. Shannon could have drunk the Pepsi herself, and just didn’t remember doing it. Though he’d only ever seen her drink Diet at work. He sighed as he remembered the call. No, she was positive she hadn’t. And he believed her. She couldn’t have known he was going to call, and the fear was evident in her voice on the phone. That kind of fear was difficult to duplicate on the spur of the moment. He knew, intimately, the sound of fear.

  The pop can had definitely been placed to grab attention. As soon as was decent tomorrow, he would take it over and see what Ralph Jamison could find on it. The ex-FBI forensic criminologist was a boon to the Denver area. Definitely worth his weight in gold. But he wouldn’t like being woken on a Saturday.

  John thought about the picture he had seen in her living room. It explained so much. From her easy acceptance when he first met Shannon, to her familiarity with the wheelchair, it all made sense now. Her brother had lived with her not too long ago while he was between jobs. She’d told him that during one of their lunches. They were close, obviously. Shannon glowed when she spoke about her little brother. He had a feeling if he spoke with Chris, the feeling would be mutual.

  For a long moment, John wondered what it would feel like to be that connected to another person. To have a somebody. His mother had dropped him off at the orphanage when he was five years old. He remembered the day perfectly. It had been bright and sunny, and she had been unusually nice to him that day. Letting him ride in the front seat, getting him a hamburger from McDonald’s. And she had been sober. He’d been so surprised and it stuck out in his memory as one of the best times he’d ever had with her.

  When she had pulled up to the curb of the big, beautiful church, he hadn’t thought anything was out of the ordinary. They often when to church rummage sales and food lines. But when she handed him a paper sack with his clothes in it, he knew something was wrong. There were tears in her eyes as she told him things had changed, and that if he was a good little boy, he would be able to find a family that would love him and be better able to take care of him. John hadn’t understood. What had he done to make her mad? Crying had only made her more determined, until she finally snapped at him, “This is why I’m getting rid of you.”

  She left him standing there on the steps as he cried his eyes out. It was the last time he’d ever seen her.

  John contemplated the suburban scene in front of him as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. He’d covered a lot of distance between then and now. Actually, if he thought about it, he was fairly proud of where he was. For an abandoned kid that had barely scraped through school, he did good in the military. Commendations and awards were stacked in a box in his closet, telling him how brave other people thought he was. As a Gunnery Sergeant, he had been well respected by his men. His orders were followed immediately and without question, and his team had had one of the lowest casualty counts in his company.

  Well, until that day outside of Kabul. Everything had gone to shit then.

  He tipped his head to one side, then the other, cracking the bones in his neck. He scrubbed his hands through his hair and flicked the ignition on without starting the truck. He pressed buttons on the radio until he found an irritating station that would keep him awake.

  Shannon was up and moving around by seven o’clock. John thought it was safe to head back to the apartment. Maybe he could catch a few minutes’ sleep in his bed before he had to go in to the office and submit the evidence. Jamison would not appreciate business on a Saturday, but it couldn’t be helped.

  *

  THROUGH A CRACK in her bedroom drapes, Shannon watched John pull away from the curb, several yards down the street. Her heart warmed at the thought of him waiting out there in the cold, watching to make sure she was okay. For a man who didn’t have any relationships, family or otherwise, she was amazed at how well he took care of her. If she confronted him about it, he would deny it, of course. But she knew the truth. John Palmer had an incredibly warm, caring heart.

  And he seemed to have a soft spot for her.

  Smiling, she turned and headed for the hot shower. She needed to clean and shop today.

  Chapter Three

  ‡

  CHAD CALLED ZEKE at three.

  “’Lo?”

  “Dude, are you still in bed?”

  There was silence on the other end of the line, and Chad thought the other man had fallen asleep. “May
be. What do you want? It’s damn…early.”

  He snorted. “No, it’s not. It’s after three. What time do you normally get up?”

  Zeke yawned on the other end of the line. “Mm, five-ish. Depends on the job the night before.”

  “Well, whatever. You need to get up. Are you going with me?”

  The silence stretched on the other end of the line even longer, and Chad knew Zeke had hoped he’d forgotten.

  “I don’t know, Chad. I’m not…ch-chomping at the bit for a girlfriend like you…are. I don’t need to go out and be looked at like a bug over and over again.”

  Chad winced at the too-blunt description of their normal nights out. Zeke was all too right. Finding girls was not the problem, it was getting to know them. Between Chad’s obviously fucked-up arm and Zeke’s long pauses and patchwork face, people tended to give them a wide berth, no matter how friendly they tried to be. And if the women did pause long enough for a drink, they usually fell into two categories: the motherers and the pityers. Neither of which they were in the market for. If he wanted to be mothered or pitied, he could go back home to Texas.

  He was hungry for companionship, though. It had been years since he’d been in a serious relationship, and months since his last half-dressed fuck.

  The first time he’d been with a woman, she’d said over and over again she’d be fine with his amputation, and that she’d seen injuries like his before. Well, apparently not, because as soon as she caught sight of his stub, she’d paled and shuddered, making an excuse to leave. The second time he’d been with a woman he’d left his jeans and leg on, in spite of her protests, and everything had worked out great, though it had felt shallow. Not as mind-blowing as his first fuck post-injury should have been.