by Aimée Thurlo
Her words touched a part of him he’d buried deep inside himself. He’d said much the same thing when his platoon had entered that Afghan village. Now the cries of the wounded and the dying haunted his sleep.
He took one last look outside, then turned out the hall light. “Let’s hold each other for a while. Maybe we can make our own peace,” he said, sitting in the far corner of the room.
She settled easily into his arms, and he felt her relax. He kissed her forehead gently. The need to protect her—not because it was his duty, but for another, deeper reason—drummed through him.
She looked up and smiled at him. Instinctively he lowered his mouth to hers, brushing her lips in a feather-light caress. He’d meant to keep it casual, but when she strained into him, a white hot, bone-melting heat jolted him to the core. Parting her mouth roughly, he tasted her, his tongue dancing and mating with hers.
She responded naturally, drinking him in, even as she yielded to him. Blood thundered in his ears and passion drove him.
“More,” she begged, softly.
As he gazed into her eyes and saw desire, dark needs coiled in his gut. Surrendering to instinct, he bent down to take her mouth again. Suddenly, light filtered through a gap in the curtains. Nick sat bolt upright as vehicle tires crunched on the graveled driveway outside.
Chapter Thirteen
Nick pulled her down to the floor, then moved to the edge of the window. Crouched to one side of the curtain, he watched the sedan drive up. The car stopped near the front door, and its headlights went out.
He hadn’t switched the sign outside, not wanting to tell anyone at all that they were there. If another agency needed the house, he figured they’d either share for a few hours, or he’d have to leave. But there was no way for him to tell if the new arrival was friend or foe. The sign wasn’t visible from this direction.
As he watched, the car door opened and the driver climbed out. The fact that the interior dome light hadn’t come on made Nick realize their visitor was probably a professional—but professional what? Another cop wanting to use the safe house would have brought a passenger in the car, but there was no one else there.
In the moonlight, he couldn’t make out any of the man’s features, but when he started walking toward the house, his hand reaching beneath his jacket, readjusting something there, Nick knew they were in trouble.
As he turned to signal Drew, Nick saw that she’d already shoved her laptop and reference books into her backpack. He pointed to the backdoor, and held a finger to his lips.
Outside seconds later, he heard the sound of footsteps drawing closer. Nick whispered to Drew, telling her to head for the car, then hugged the wall, waiting for whoever was behind them to draw closer.
“Grow up, Overtime. I saw your wheels, and you’re too old to play hide-and-seek.”
Nick expelled his breath in a hiss and stepped out. “Roadtrip, what the heck are you doing here?”
The men stepped close and gave each other a hand slap and a fist bump. Drew, who had just reached the Jeep, stopped and watched Nick and the black man greet each other. It was clear they were friends. Considering Roadtrip was well over six feet tall and built like a water heater, that was a good thing.
“Lucky for you that you’re one of the good guys. I was about to hunt you down and fill you with regret.” Roadtrip looked over at Drew, who still hadn’t come out into full view. “You’re okay, darlin’. You’re among friends.” He glanced back at Nick and added, “Afraid I was going to sneak up on you and your woman?”
“Dream on. I could hear your thundering hooves the moment you stepped out of the car, you old ox.” Nick turned to Drew. “This is my friend, a deputy federal marshal we call Roadtrip.”
“That’s a strange nickname,” she said.
“He got it because he’s always on the road, protecting a witness or tracking down a fugitive. He works with WITSEC. But what are you doing here, and where’s your witness?”
“I pick her up the day after tomorrow. I came here ahead of schedule to check out the layout.” He glanced around. “Let’s go inside before the neighbors get curious.”
Once they were back in the living room the men relaxed visibly. Drew noticed that Roadtrip had never asked her name or why she was with Nick. Either he already knew, or it was a form of professional courtesy between them. As she thought about it, she realized he’d never offered his real name, either.
“We’ll be out of here by daybreak,” Nick said.
“This place looks safe enough,” he said. “Is there a problem I’m not seeing?”
“My location keeps getting compromised,” Nick answered.
“A leak in the department?” he asked, eyebrows up.
“It’s the answer that makes the most sense to me,” Nick said. “But I can’t prove it—not yet.”
“I’m on my own time till tomorrow afternoon,” the burly marshal said. “Why don’t you let me keep watch while you catch some Z’s. I can stand guard until daybreak.”
Nick nodded, then looked at Drew. “If you still don’t want the bed, I’m going in there,” he said.
“Go ahead.”
Nick walked into the empty bedroom.
“You can get some sleep, too,” Roadtrip told her.
Drew shook her head and sat down in one of the chairs.
“Not yet. I’ve got too much adrenaline running through my system right now. I’m going to try something boring, like work. That’ll make me sleepy faster than almost anything else can.”
Drew sat cross-legged on the chair, while Roadtrip went to the spot by the window where Nick had stood.
After a while, she looked up and stretched. “How long have you known Nick?” she asked, unable to stem her curiosity.
“About fifteen years. My dad was a missionary on the rez and we went to the same high school.”
“Was he always as driven as he is now?”
He nodded. “Yeah, and that’s what kept him and his brother alive back then. He’d set a goal and follow through. They didn’t have much, but they stuck it out.”
“From what he’s said—or left unsaid—I gather he went through his own version of hell growing up.”
“That’s not a time in his life he likes to talk about. I’m surprised that he mentioned it to you at all.”
“He didn’t say much, just a few things here and there.”
“He must consider you a friend then—and with Nick, that means something. If he’s your friend he’ll stand by you, no matter what happens. That’s what earned him the second highest honor the military gives—the DSC—Distinguished Service Cross.”
“He never told me that. What happened?”
Roadtrip hesitated. “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you,” he said at last. “You could Google it and find out, anyway.” Roadtrip went to another window, and apparently satisfied with what he saw—or didn’t see—continued. “His platoon was out on what was supposed to be a routine patrol, but insurgents ambushed them. Both officers present were killed, so Nick took over. He took out a heavy machine gun that had them pinned down, then personally carried some of the wounded to safety.”
“I had no idea,” she said. “It explains some of his scars, the ones I can see, and the ones that aren’t so easy to spot.”
“War always marks you, one way or another,” Roadtrip said.
SHE WASN’T SURE WHEN she actually managed to fall asleep, but it was after daybreak when something woke her. Hearing a soft moan, she sat up and looked around quickly.
Roadtrip had moved to the kitchen window and seemed fine. Then she heard the heart-wrenching sound again, and realized it was coming from the bedroom. As she hurried into the room, the agony mirrored on Nick’s face left no doubt that he was having a terrible nightmare.
As Drew approached the bed, he suddenly sat up, fully and abruptly awake.
She jumped, startled by his reaction. “Are you okay?” she managed, though her heart was beating overtime.
&nbs
p; “Yeah. Memories…they wind themselves around my dreams,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “That’s why I have trouble sleeping.” As he got out of bed, he glanced over at her. “How about you? Did you get some rest?”
“Some,” she answered. “And definitely more than your friend, Roadtrip, got. He’s been at the windows all night.”
“I believe it. He’s one of the few people I know I can trust completely.” He glanced toward the front room. “Sun’s up, so we’ve got to get moving again.”
IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG FOR them to be back on the road. Faced with Nick’s stony silence, she remained quiet, reasoning that he was probably trying to figure out their next move.
Suddenly realizing that she was doing exactly what she’d always done with her father and uncle—filling in the blanks when they left her out of things—she stopped herself cold.
“I don’t want to play twenty questions. It’s too early,” she said, firmly. “What’s going on?”
Nick shrugged. “I’m trying to come up with a plan. But I’m out of ideas.”
“I’ve got a suggestion. Mayor Hensley’s leaving office in a few months. Tonight he’s having a going-away bash in his cabin up in the hills south of Durango, just inside the New Mexico state line. That’s where he plans to retire. Since I worked in the administrative offices at city hall for a little while, and he liked the job I did, I got an invitation about a week ago.”
“You’re supposed to be in protective custody and you want to go to a party? Are you out of your mind?” he snarled.
“Think about it, Nick. First, no one knows we’re going. We’ll just show up. Secondly, it’s only supposed to be for the staff at city hall. You’ll be able to question the people I’ve been working with for the past few months. In a relaxed setting like that, you’re bound to get insights you’d never get otherwise.”
“All right—under one condition. If I pick up even a hint of trouble, we leave immediately. Agreed?”
“Deal,” she answered. “But there’s one problem. I can’t go in wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. I’ll need something a little dressier, maybe a pant suit or a long skirt and blouse.”
“I can’t take you shopping. Forget that.” He paused, then slowly his expression changed, softening somewhat. “But there’s another possibility….”
“What’s that?”
“My grandmother, my shimasání, lives just this side of the rez, about twenty minutes from here. She’s an excellent seamstress and does work for a lot of the politicians’ wives. We could go to her place and see what she’s got on hand.”
“That’s a terrific idea,” Drew said, glad for the chance to see some of Nick’s roots. He was without a doubt the most fascinating man she’d ever known.
“But since my grandmother’s a traditionalist, there are some ground rules you need to keep in mind,” Nick said. “You already know about not using proper names. But there’s more. Don’t talk about illness. That’s said to bring it to you. Don’t talk of your plans for the following day. That’s said to prevent them from coming to pass.” He made a left turn off the highway. “There are lots more, so just keep your eyes on me. I’ll guide you.”
She nodded. “All right. Anything else?”
“Just one more thing. My grandmother is a very strong, proud woman. No matter what you see, don’t feel sorry for her. She’s very perceptive, and you’ll put her on the defensive.”
“Why do you think I’d feel sorry for her? What haven’t you told me?” she pressed.
“She’s got rheumatoid arthritis. Her hands are so twisted up it looks like she’d never be able to hold a needle. Yet, despite that, she’s the best seamstress in the county.”
“Does her disability have something to do with why you and Travis didn’t move in with her when you were young?”
He nodded, turning down a narrow lane that led toward the river. “My grandfather had passed away, and she was convinced that the local authorities wouldn’t find her a fit guardian. Travis and I didn’t want to put it to a test.”
“By staying alone, you chose the hardest road of all,” she whispered.
“That was the only way my brother and I had of making sure we remained together,” he answered.
“But you didn’t know for sure that child services would separate you,” she said, trying to understand him.
“We weren’t willing to risk it, because we weren’t in a position to make the final decision—the adults were.”
As they reached the end of the lane, he pulled to a stop in front of a small, stucco home.
“Let’s go meet her,” Drew said, opening her door.
“No, wait in the car,” Nick said, reaching for her arm. “We can’t just walk up to the house. That would be considered extremely rude. We’ll wait until she steps outside and invites us into her home. That’s the traditionalist way.”
A moment later a small, frail woman wearing a long, traditional Navajo skirt and a brightly colored blue velour top came out onto the porch. She waved, motioning them to approach.
As she smiled, her weathered face took on a new radiance. “My grandson doesn’t usually bring his friends by,” she said, ushering them into the warmth of the living room. “You must be special.”
Nick nodded. “She is.”
His answer surprised Drew, and for a moment she couldn’t think of what to say.
“Are you hungry?” the elderly woman asked, then, looking at Nick, laughed. “Of course you are. These days, your idea of a meal is something you pick up at a window.”
She led the way into the kitchen, and brought some still warm fry bread to the table, along with a small container of honey. “Go ahead. Help yourselves.”
Drew sampled the puffy, golden bread. “This is wonderful.”
Nick tore off a large chunk and poured honey liberally over it. “You just made this.”
Shimasání nodded and smiled, pleased with their reactions. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have started cooking my mutton stew a few hours earlier. But tell me why you’ve come. You have that intense look you get when you’re working to solve a difficult crime, or when something important is bothering you.”
Nick swallowed more of the bread, then spoke. “My friend can’t go home right now, but she needs something to wear tonight to a gathering for someone who’s about to retire. Do you have something that might fit her?”
“Stand up, dear.” After Drew did as she asked, the woman walked around her slowly. “Will this be for the mayor’s party? I made the long skirt and blouse the mayor’s wife will be wearing tonight.”
Uncertain how much she could say, Drew looked at Nick. Seeing him nod, she answered. “Yes. Your grandson and I would like to attend, but I can’t go in these jeans.”
Shimasání studied Drew’s clothes. “You’re right, but I think I have something that’ll fit you. I make different-size outfits for a shop in Three Rivers. Come with me,” she said, then led Drew to an adjoining room and closed the door behind them.
After glancing at the array of clothing stored in the closet, Shimasání retrieved two items on hangers. “These represent my best work. I was going to enter them in a craft show, but you may borrow them.”
Drew looked at the smooth-flowing rayon velvet blouse and crushed velvet skirt. The dark burgundy color gave them a regal air. “These are so beautiful. I couldn’t possibly…”
“Yes, you can.” She then looked at Drew’s sneakers and laughed. “You’ll also need shoes.” She reached into the closet again and brought out new deerskin boots. “A friend over in Two Grey Hills made these for me. I’ve never worn them, but you and I seem to have about the same shoe size, so I think they’ll fit you just fine.”
“These things are so pretty, and you had plans for them. I’m not sure I should borrow them.”
“Please, don’t say no. My grandson never asks me for favors, and this is important to him or he wouldn’t have brought you to me. Let me do this for him,” s
he said, then helped Drew slip the skirt and blouse on.
“You’ll need a squash blossom necklace, some earrings and a proper belt, too.” Shimasání went to the next room and returned, holding an intricate silver concha belt with carved designs. The squash blossom necklace was crafted with green turquoise, and each blossom, like the earrings, held a dark matrix that wound like a spiderweb through each of the stones.
After Shimasání helped her add the finishing touches to the outfit, Drew looked in the mirror. “I feel like a fairy-tale Indian princess.”
Shimasání smiled, delighted. “Now, go show yourself to my grandson.”
As Drew stepped out of the room, Nick heard her and came out into the hall. For a moment he simply stared, his eyes shining with open admiration. “You look…amazing.”
“You’re going to need something suitable to wear as well,” his grandmother said. “I have just the thing, too. I made it to thank you for some of the work you did here at the house last summer.” She brought him a dark brown, hand-tailored western-style suit, then reached into a drawer and brought out a silver and turquoise bolo tie. “That was given to me in payment for a favor. It goes with the suit, and I’d like you to have it.”
“Shimasání, thank you,” he said in a low voice.
Drew saw Nick’s expression soften with love as he took what she offered, never looking directly at her hands. The tender side of the fierce warrior she’d come to know touched her deeply. All the hard edges she’d seen and accepted as part of him were only one facet of this multilayered man. Love, loyalty and kindness also defined him.
THE END OF THE DAY came quickly, and Nick kissed his grandmother goodbye. “Thank you—for everything. We’ll return with your things as soon as we can.”
Wearing the clothes Shimasání had provided for both of them, they were soon underway.
As she stole a furtive look at Nick, Drew wondered about her knight in western wear. His ways were so different from hers, yet her heart welcomed the differences and the beauty of the world he’d shown her.
