Nyx got rambunctious and pushed Harley flat to his back. She climbed onto his belly, her big paws on his chest and slathering him with puppy kisses.
“Excuse me,” he grumbled. “I got two females in my arms at the same time and I....”
A sob broke loose. He raised his arm to cover his eyes. Here he was sputtering and bawling in front of the woman he adored, and the dog that adored him would not let him be. For the life of him, he could not let either of them go.
So many fragments of memories floated detached and homeless inside his head, but another had just settled into place. He’d left Nyx behind in her crate that eventful day. She’d suffered a touch of heat stroke, a fairly common occurrence among four-legged troops in the scorching desert clime. The dream of her getting shot and killed by those Iraqi Guard soldiers was just a trick of his banged-up head. There’d be more memories to deal with, but he was ready now. Bring ’em on.
Harley pulled Judy to her feet along with him. “Sit,” he whispered hoarsely to his dog.
Nyx complied promptly, her tail wagging and her two bright black eyes glued to him like she’d never lost track of him. Like he’d never left her behind. Like she still lived to obey every word that came out of his mouth. Man’s best friend, and he so undeserving.
He brushed the tears off his cheeks, ashamed and happy at the same time. Judy wrapped her arms around him, her eyes plenty misty too. Nyx growled, so he egged her on. Each time he growled, she slapped her big feet to the ground and growled back at him like she used to do.
When Nyx set to howling her happy puppy song again, Harley recalled the day his parents threw him out. Yes, he went against their wishes when he’d joined the Army straight out of high school. They had a right to be mad with their only child, but the truth was he’d been looking for home ever since. Fort Hood in Texas came close. Even Camp Wolfe in Kuwait felt a little like it sometimes. Alex and Kelsey had taken him into theirs, but he was always third-wheel to their happily-ever-after and jealous of what they had.
But standing there with his dog at his knee and his woman in his arms, he’d come full circle. His war was done. His men didn’t hate him for living, and Nyx, his faithful companion on all those dark nights when America’s Patriot missiles battled Iraq’s low-tech Scuds, was alive and home. But best of all, the lady of his heart loved him.
Harley looked his boss in the eye. “Thanks for taking care of my girls.”
Alex winked at him, his arm draped comfortably over Kelsey’s shoulder. “No, son. Thank you for taking care of mine.”
EPILOGUE
Roy strolled the hallowed grounds of Arlington National Cemetery. Would there be room enough for him when the call came? He hoped so. Visitors and tourists rode tour buses, but Roy preferred the quiet honor of walking among the noble dead. Arlington’s reverent stillness always soothed the ragged edge of grief simply by a man putting one foot ahead of the other.
Nature was peacefully at work among the endless rows of snow white markers. Birds sang overhead or flitted among the trees. The breeze shifted silently up hill and dale. The reminder that man was just another child of Nature resonated across the orderly landscape.
He knew the whole story now. With the precision planning of any good sniper, Emmet Grant had kept a log that spanned his USMC service years. Part of a family website that Roy suspected Ben had set up for his father, it listed what every good sniper record should: targets, schedules, as well as observations taken during preliminary planning. The man had thoroughly noted minute details like light conditions, wind direction and velocity, plus anticipated kill sites for all his missions in Vietnam.
But that’s where it got interesting. The last entries were less than a week old. Locations like Arlington Memorial Bridge, the Lincoln and Jefferson Memorials, the Tidal Basin, and World War II stood out in bold font. To further incriminate himself, Emmet included types and numbers of rounds used as well as a tick mark if the shot was successful.
Four tick marks. Four cartridges spent. Four targets acquired. Three times the appraisal column was annotated with, ‘Terminated with extreme prejudice.’ The fourth annotation was more telling. Non-lethal hit. Do over. Emmet had made a mistake.
In a sad, twisted way, the blog opened to the dress blues portrait of his only son, USMC Lance Corporal Benjamin Franklin Grant, the victim of a Taliban suicide bomber in Kabul, Afghanistan. A bright, smiling young man, he’d written across the lower right corner of the scanned portrait: To the greatest hero in the world—My Dad, All my love, Ben.
Roy sighed as he walked. The truth was clear. Whether Emmet realized what he was doing or not, he’d sent a direct call for help to his friend from a different era.
In the end, Roy was the only one to step forward to take care of his friend’s remains. The sniper who’d terrorized D.C. was old news, the nation back to business, and Emmet Grant already forgotten. Just like Ben. That’s why Roy walked the hallowed grounds today. He owed his lifelong friend a debt he could never repay.
At last he came to his destination. A robin stood watching nearby as Roy settled down on his knees to face the simple white stone marker of Marine Corps Lance Corporal Benjamin Franklin Grant.
“Hey, Ben.” Roy’s soft southern drawl whispered like a lullaby amongst the reverent silence. “Your dad can’t join you like he wanted, at least not here on this side of eternity. He’s at rest now, son. Just wanted you to know.”
The robin pulled a worm out of the soft warm earth and cocked its head as if listening to the quiet eulogy.
“I don’t know if you and your old man will be together in the hereafter. I don’t know how eternity works. People say a lot of stuff because they want everyone else to believe the way they do, but nobody really knows. ’Cept you cuz, well, you’re over there. And your dad cuz he’s there too. If you run into him, look him in the eye and tell him you love him. You be proud as hell of your old man. He was a hero, you hear me, boy?”
Roy wiped the tear off his cheek. Damn it, he didn’t mean to get emotional, but his heart hurt for the friend he hadn’t been able to save.
“They aren’t gonna call him a hero, but you and I know better. He wasn’t himself there at the end. No, he missed you and your mom something awful. He loved you, Ben. That’s a powerful lot of hurt to shoulder when everyone you love has been taken away. He was hurting, but at the very end, he was still man enough to save my life.”
That nosy little bird hopped closer as Roy sucked in a breath of the fresh spring air and wiped his face. “Sorry I haven’t been by much to visit. I’ll do better from now on. Brought you something.”
With a final nod to the silent soldier, Roy took a small plastic bag from his jacket pocket and emptied the contents around the base of the white marker. The forgiving Arlington lawn accepted the ash without judgment or opinion, just took it in the same as sunshine and rain. “Rest easy, Emmet. You’re home with your boy now. Give Ben my love. Tell Lois I still think she’s the prettiest gal this side of heaven, will you?”
Roy rolled onto his butt and sat a moment longer, his arms on his knees. Wrong or right, some of Emmet’s heart was in that handful of ash. He was finally with the son he’d grieved so deeply for. It didn’t matter in the whole scheme of the universe anyway. God would take care of the details.
Two soldiers. Two sacrifices. Two heroes. Together at last.
Kelsey stood inside the wrought iron fence of the Stewart’s family plot. She’d been here three times too many. Once, to reinter her sons when Alex had their caskets moved from the Pacific Northwest; again to position the bronze memorials. Now for Raymond.
Leave it to Alex to surprise her. He had a bronze created of a special needs child with Raymond’s rare disease. Soft blue eyes smiled from beneath the gentle protuberance of a unibrow that itself rimmed the stocking hat trailing in the breeze. Alex made it worse when he placed Raymond a step behind Abby. With her right hand flung back the way it was, she seemed to be reaching for his hand. Kelsey cried when she saw
it. Raymond would have loved a sister and brothers.
She leaned back into the solid wall of the man who held her tightly, his chin buried in the crook of her neck. Alex. Only he could know how to make this new sorrow bearable. That little girl in the ground beside her three brothers was his. Kelsey gulped at the enormity of all they’d lost and endured together. God, she needed him. She gathered what was left of her heart and prepared to get on with the business of living without. Again.
Alex placed a warm kiss on the edge of her ear, his palms gently interlocked over her stomach. “I think we should visit your doctor.”
Shivering, she drew him closer. “Because I’m depressed?” Depression did not begin to cover the way she felt.
His lips moved to her neck. “I know it’s tough right now, but you’re one of the strongest people I know. Look at Jeff Watson and Newton Bridges. They’re alive today because of you. And you single-handedly brought down one of the most cold-blooded women in the country. Police in three states were looking for Durrant.”
“Why?”
“Because she didn’t just desert Nick’s father the night you told me about. She killed him.” Alex hesitated, and Kelsey knew something just as sad would come out of his mouth next. “The police found another body at the Durrant’s rental in Idaho. A little girl. Five years old. That’s why she took off for the Northwest.”
Kelsey turned in his arms to face him. She’d never understand the likes of Ethel if she lived to be a million. “She killed a daughter? Why not Nick?”
“Who knows what goes on in a murderer’s mind? Think about it, Sweetheart. The world’s safer because of you. Besides, I was thinking more along the lines of Dr. Sweeney, your fertility doctor.”
“You want a baby?” she asked, not sure this was the best time or place for the topic.
They’d had it before. Alex wanted children. He’d wondered why they hadn’t gotten pregnant despite no attempts at birth control. The fault seemed to reside within her mind, not her body. The doctors said keep trying, but she’d finally put the dream aside when the stress of that monthly, unfulfilled expectation became an all too consuming burden she was not willing to inflict on Alex. If a child was meant to be, it would have to come in its own sweet time. Not hers. Certainly not according to some fertility doctor’s demented schedule that turned the sweet act of lovemaking with Alex into a chore.
“Our baby,” he said, his forehead pressed to hers and his breath in her face.
“I’ve put you through so much already.”
“You haven’t put me through anything,” he insisted as his palms smoothed down her shoulder blades to her backside, his favorite resting place. Most men hugged their wives’ shoulders or waists. He had a particular craving for her bottom. “Besides, we need the practice.”
Kelsey tipped her chin to absorb the light in his eyes.
“I know us. If we’ve proved anything at all, it’s that our love will find a way. Besides, I’m taking you to Alaska next week. I hear it’s still cold up there. We might need to make our own body heat.”
Tears filled her eyes. The tender depths to this rugged, powerful, fearsome man drew her like a moth to a flame. Her empty cup did not feel so chipped and cracked when he held her.
“And then we’re going to New Orleans. Think of it. Bourbon Street. Jazz. Hot steamy nights.” With one soft pat on her ass, he clenched her tightly against him right there in the middle of the cemetery—as if life could go on after so much loss. As if one more tiny life might possibly want to chance coming to earth to join them. This man had unquenchable faith. He knew the wreck she was, and he offered what she needed most. Hope.
“Then we’re going to Peru. I’ve always wanted to see Machu Picchu, don’t you?”
His incessant love for adventure made her smile. “Will it be dangerous?”
“Did you forget who you’re married to?” He kept dreaming and helping her look forward. “’Course, I’ve always wanted to see you on the Eiffel Tower at sunset too.”
“We’re taking a world tour?”
“Who? Us?” His palm cupped her chin while he wiped her tears away with two swipes of his thumbs. “Sweetheart, just wait. You and me are taking the world by storm.”
And that was why she loved him. The hurricane called Alex Stewart was her world.
Who am I looking for?
Harley raced in his dream. Always a few elusive steps ahead, he could never catch up with her—whoever she was. With each dainty step, the lovely woman disappeared into a misty green curtain of spring air and the refreshing fragrance of newly mown grass. Her hair streamed behind her in silky ribbons that teased the tips of his fingers, but never gave him enough substance to grab onto; never enough he could reel her gently back where she belonged.
Who is she?
One minute the ribbons seemed red; the next brown. The lovely spring scene transformed into horror. Thunder crashed overhead and he was running. Time ran with him, urging him to fly. Unseen danger lurked everywhere. The need to find her filled his gut with acid and that awful feeling he’d missed his one and only chance.
Am I too late? Can I save her—just in time—again?
Feet pounded alongside.
“Who are we looking for, Bro?” Kent asked, his face shiny with sweat although he’d just appeared out of nowhere.
“My woman.” Harley’s throat closed with the panic of his nightmare. I think.
A pitch-black wraith flitted just ahead. Nick Durrant. He wore a black business suit with a cleaver dangling out of its sleeve. And duct tape. The knowledge of all he stood to lose suffocated Harley. She’d scream and cry, but tape over her mouth would not allow him to hear her or to find her. To save her.
Run faster!
He did. A shiny metal tripod blocked the way. Intent on crushing it with his bare hands, he reached for it, but in the way of dreams, it moved. He stretched, desperate for just one finger hold. It floated, always beyond reach.
Another monster appeared. A man with two holes in his head. Holman. His lip curled back in a demented smile. And Harley could not run fast enough.
“What’s her name?” Carlton asked.
Harley glanced to his other side. Another buddy had joined him. A little girl waved happily from Carlton’s back where she was getting a piggyback ride. She was wearing pink pajamas with gray tabby kittens. The pink pajamas transformed into a white flowing veil. It wasn’t Carlton running beside him anymore. It was—her. The woman he’d been running after. After all he’d done to find her she’d found him.
“Do you know me?” she asked, her hand stretched out to welcome him. The moment her fingertip touched his cheek, the dream let go. He tumbled, head-over-heels in a dizzying spiral that ended with—
“Harley? Wake up, honey. You’re dreaming.”
Blinking his eyes open, the dream lost its grip and faded fast. Only the sensation of having arrived just in time persisted.
Judy’s fingers were cool on his cheek. “You were dreaming again, weren’t you?”
Breathing hard, he turned with a big grin. “Of you.”
She had the good grace to blush. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” He rolled over and crawled onto her until she had no choice but to lay back and get comfy. The drab green Go Army T-shirt draping off her shoulder enhanced all of her very delectable bumps and curves. He pushed it out of his way. The nightmare had left him with a definite need.
She combed her fingers into the sides of his head as he worked his mouth over her collarbone and up her neck. When she wiggled, he eased back an inch and blew into her ear. Mission accomplished. His woman shivered, a definite sign the Mortimer train might need to build up a little more steam.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
“Drop it.”
Ah, this nosy nurse needed to let it go. He could barely remember the nightmare as it was. Good riddance. The only thing that mattered was the lady in his arms. Harley gave her earlobe a gentle
nip, eliciting another wiggle and a catch of her breath. Goosebumps lifted on her skin beneath his fingertips. She had no choice but to kiss him if she wanted to breathe. He let his fingers do the goosebump-walking while his mouth did the, umm, talking. Judy wrapped herself around him, her hands peeling away the clothes they no longer needed.
When his shirt hit the floor, he was done talking and dreaming. Judy might come off all prim and proper in nurse’s scrubs, but once he took them off, prim and proper flew out the window.
His hand slid down her belly to parts below. Her fingers walked up his chest and over his shoulders. Within minutes, they were under the covers, tangled up like the lovers they really were. He roved over every inch and crevice of her body, thrumming tender nipples to attention until they begged for attention. She arched her back, offering a mouthful. Ah, she knew what he liked.
There was no way to get enough. It should work the other way considering how their bodies interlocked so perfectly together, with his definitely on a mission inside of hers. But not once had they made love when she did not fill him more than he could ever fill her. It had nothing to do with their physical connection, and yet—it did.
As much as he gave, she always seemed to give more. He craved. She satisfied. Each heated kiss, every gentle stroke and touch until the consummation of their love burned the life out of him. Or into him. That’s how he felt by the time they lay satisfied in each other’s arms. Filled with life. And love.
Her fingernails dug into the cheeks of his ass. With one last groan of pleasure and shuddering intensity, they strove for every last bit of the other they could reach. She whimpered, a sweet surrender of all she had to give. And she was his. He surrendered back to her. All. Everything. Right down to his true confessions. Somehow, he knew. Two alls had just made the perfect one.
Opening his eyes, he could not help but smile at the good job he’d done on this particular mission. Their wrestling had taken them all the way to the edge until one of them was arched half-off the bed. And it was not him.
Harley (In the Company of Snipers Book 4) Page 28
