by Sarah Monzon
Her heart ached at the sense of loss that question created.
Judge Abernathy leaned on his forearms. “I’m granting you a temporary peace order. It’ll go into effect as soon as the respondent is served and extend for the next seven days. We’ll set you up with a court date next week, and a hearing will determine the status and duration of the order.”
She pressed a palm to her heart. “Thank you.”
“I’ll see you again next week.”
Chapter Thirteen
Present Day, Maryland
Michael swiped a finger over the touchpad on his laptop to wake it up. The screen changed from black to blue, a small picture of his family all posed around a Christmas tree the central icon. A moment of nostalgia twisted his gut.
The photo had been taken two years before when he’d had leave over the holiday. Trent had brought one of his string of women to the family dinner, and if he remembered correctly, she had been the one to take the picture. Adam had regaled them with comedic stories of stupid criminals and the things they thought they could get away with. Amber had spent most of the time with her nose stuck in a book. Her gaze would lift from the pages with a twinkle in her eye and a quick smile at the family antics. Of all the Carringtons, Amber was the most reserved. She’d been teased as being a stuck-up Goody Two-shoes, but really, she just had her moral compass pointing in the right direction. Mom and Dad beamed from the back of the picture. Their joy at having all their children together was palpable, even in a tiny digital image.
He clicked on the user profile and opened a web browser, typed in the URL to his e-mail provider. Two new messages. The first came from Brett with a subject line all in caps. WHAT THE HECK IS THIS?
Uh.
He tapped on the message, and a picture filled the screen. It was Jackie leaning over a table, reaching for a bowl of salad.
Ooookkk. Was he missing something cryptic here?
What in the world, Finch? I ask you to look after my sister, and then I get this picture my brother forwarded to me from my sister-in-law? What is going on with that bruise on her face? Amara said Mitch did it. Where were you???
Michael scanned the rest of the message, swallowing the king-sized pile of blame with a side serving of guilt before lifting his eyes back to the picture. This time he noticed the green shades of a beginning bruise against the creaminess of Jackie’s soft cheek.
His skin flushed hot, and the need to hit something pulsated through him. He’d failed. Again. Twice now Mitch had managed to get his grubby hands on Jackie when Michael was supposed to be watching out for her.
A feral growl tore from the back of his throat, his anger shooting in so many directions. At Mitch Stavros. If Michael ever got his hand on that guy, his fist would give the scumbag a first-rate education on how to treat a lady.
And Jackie. What happened to Brett talking her into a restraining order? Hadn’t she reported any of this to the police? They had to have done something, if not to prevent, then at least to punish. The dirtbag shouldn’t get away with this.
Mostly he was angry at himself. He would never, never let Jackie’s ex come near her again. If he had to follow her around and stake out her house at night while she slept, then he’d do it.
Still boiling, he ripped open a dresser drawer and yanked out a T-shirt. He pulled it over his head, thankful he’d already managed the two shrinkers this morning. His crutch leaned against the wall, and he grabbed it and tucked it under his arm. Soreness spread along his ribs from the constant use of the crutch, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t live with. And probably less than he deserved.
He grabbed his keys from the hook by the door and looped his finger through the key ring before clutching the crutch’s padded handle again. The door slammed behind him, and he hop-walked to his parked Toyota FJ Cruiser. The doors unlocked with a beep, and he slid into the driver’s seat. Good thing he’d bought an automatic instead of a manual. Kinda needed a second foot to work the cultch. As it was, he sent up a prayer that the police wouldn’t stop him. He still hadn’t looked into the laws on amputees driving. There was probably some paperwork to fill out, or he’d have to retake the driver’s test or something. It could wait. Right now there were more pressing matters. Like shake some sense into one ultra-independent woman and make sure she was protected…even if against her will.
Michael pulled into the municipal airport and parked in front of Jackie’s hangar. Her snazzy vintage roadster was nowhere in sight. Dread curdled his stomach. In the two weeks he’d been coming and hanging out, doing all the infernal exercises Lieutenant Commander Orville had assigned him, Jackie had always beaten him there. Which said a lot, since his internal clock still ran on military time.
So where could she be? A thousand unpleasant scenarios ran through his head. He ripped open his door and stumbled out of the SUV. No such thing as running with a crutch, but he sure as shootin’ hobbled along as fast as he could.
He jiggled the knob of the door. Locked. Pounding with his fist, he shouted, “Jackie? You in here?”
Why hadn’t he thought to get her number? And an emergency contact number? He was smarter than this. Had been trained better.
He made his way back to his Toyota and pulled himself up onto the driver’s seat, ripping his phone out of his pocket. Sitting around would accomplish nothing. So he’d had a moment—or a few—of stupidity, but he still had contacts. He’d make some calls to his military buddies. Geyser had family information recorded in his file. Michael would check in every favor owed to him, but doggonit, he was getting Jackie’s number. Right. Now.
The phone rang in his ear, and he mindlessly tapped along the suture line above where his knee used to be. Lieutenant Commander Orville had said the practice needed to be done multiple times a day to desensitize the area, and Michael had found it was something he did when his thoughts were preoccupied. Almost like a nervous habit. If fighter pilots got nervous, that was. Which of course, they didn’t.
Michael gritted his teeth.
“Commander Spaniel.” The clipped voice of one of Michael’s buddies back at NAS Oceana ceased Michael’s tapping.
“It’s Finch.”
“Finch, good to hear from you.” Spaniel’s tone warmed by degrees. “How’s civilian life treating you?”
Technically he wasn’t a civilian. He hadn’t received any of his discharge papers yet, although none of that was important at the moment. “Fine. Look. I need your help with something.”
“Shoot.”
A car door slammed to his right, which caused Michael’s head to snap to attention. “Hold on a sec.”
Jackie stepped out of her car and rounded the hood with a white paper bag in her hand, morning sunlight pouring in behind her, silhouetting her petite—and curvaceous—frame.
Woah.
Michael’s mouth became as dry as the deserts in Baghdad.
Who knew the mechanical coveralls she wore every day hid a figure like that? Her jeans hugged her legs and hips, accentuating all the right parts. A billowy tank top draped over her upper body, revealing defined arms that spoke to a hidden strength.
“Finch? You there?” The commander asked from the phone Michael still held to his ear.
“I’ll have to call you back.” Michael lowered the phone and ended the call.
At the moment he was too preoccupied watching her move, the hot blood pumping through his veins warm for a different reason than before. He’d yet to take his eyes off Jackie as she walked into the hangar. For some reason she hadn’t noticed him sitting in his truck.
She turned, and their eyes connected. She offered a small smile, her hand coming up and lightly touching the side of her cheek before fluttering away.
Her cheek. The bruise. Mitch.
Would she tell him about what had happened? He’d planned to confront her. Beg, bully, or hog-tie her and drive her to the courthouse if need be in order to get the proper paperwork filed against her ex. He’d still do that if necessary, but maybe a bit o
f patience was required first. Curiosity—and perhaps a little pride?—demanded to follow her lead. See if the friendship that was growing between them produced any honesty and trust on her part.
More hope than was reasonable for simply a friendship expanded his chest as he trailed her into the hangar.
She set down the white bag. “I brought doughnuts and coffee.”
His mouth watered. Panic—no, not panic. Fighter pilots panicked as much as they got nervous—had sent him out of the house without any breakfast. “Jelly filled?”
Her button nose scrunched. “Fancy, are we?”
“Since when is jelly fancy?”
She grabbed the bag and opened the top, shoving it under his chin. “Since I bought old-fashioned glazed.”
“Interesting.”
“Glazed doughnuts are interesting?” She lifted a pastry out of the bag and took a generous bite.
“Not the doughnut per se, but what it tells me about your personality.”
Her eyebrows lifted in a you’re crazy look.
Glazed sugar coated his fingers as he brought the other pastry out of the white bag. “An old-fashioned glazed doughnut tells me you’re steady and reliable. You’re not high maintenance. Easygoing in nature. A hard worker.” He looked at her through the center hole. “You also don’t think too highly of yourself. You tell yourself that you’re boring, plain, and would get easily lost in the masses or overlooked.”
Her face froze, and she reached for her cup of coffee. Hiding her thoughts behind the rim, no doubt.
“Am I right?”
She swallowed hard and set the cup down. “Not even close.”
Uh-huh. The way she avoided making eye contact said otherwise.
“You’re wrong, you know.”
That brought her eyes up. “What?”
He held her gaze, noticing for the first time the gold flecks that edged her pupils. “You’re wrong. You’re not boring, certainly not plain, and anyone who would overlook you is a complete idiot.”
***
The world is filled with idiots. A telling tingle in her nose had her clamping down on the pity-party thoughts. It was true. Most guys were idiots, but not because she’d been overlooked.
You’re not being overlooked now. No. Now she was being consumed by a look. Michael’s vibrant-blue eyes were taking her in, seeing parts of her no one had ever taken the time to notice before. It made her feel exposed, vulnerable.
She’d always thought she wanted a man to look beyond her grease-caked fingernails and steel-toed boots and see her as a woman. But now a man was—a very handsome one at that—and she felt like throwing on her formless coveralls and hiding.
Was that what she’d been doing all this time? Hiding? Talking a big talk and walking a big walk but too afraid to truly be herself?
Did she even know who that was?
“Mitch showed up at my church.” Well, that came out of nowhere. Corner her—he didn’t corner you. He complimented you—and apparently she’d throw anything out there. Not that she hadn’t planned on telling him anyway. Probably. Maybe.
Michael’s eyes lost their softness, hardening to granite at the mention of Mitch’s name. His jaw ticked, and his lips pressed into a thin line.
“Did he hurt you?”
The sting of his slap had lasted for hours. Her cheek still hurt when she touched it. Comparatively though, she’d hurt herself more the time she almost crushed her foot when she’d dropped part of an engine on it. “A little, but I’m fine.”
Behind his eyes a battle waged, and he scrubbed his hand over his closely shaved head. It ate him up inside, she knew that. A reaction any decent guy would have. Went against an ingrained military code of justice and protectiveness. Men didn’t use their strength to hurt those weaker than themselves. Or as her daddy would say, real men didn’t hit women. Period.
Jackie looked down at the ground, giving him time to process without an audience. Calloused fingers nudged her chin up and to the side. With a featherlight touch, he ran the pad of his thumb along the ridge of her cheekbone.
She sucked in a breath, every cell in her body alive with his nearness, with the warmth of his palm inviting her to lean in to his hand, with the realization that… “You knew.” She blinked away the heady tension languishing in her limbs and took a step back as her fingertips grazed against her cheek. “How did you know he slapped me?”
Michael filled the space she’d put between them. He looked rattled. Maybe as rattled as she felt. From Mitch’s actions or the swirl of intoxicating chemistry zinging between them? She had a hard time thinking with him so near, but he didn’t seem to want to sever this growing connection that was drawing them to each other.
“Your sister-in-law sent a picture to Eli, who forwarded it to Brett, who forwarded to me.” He probed her gaze, searching for something. Assurance that she was truly okay? Her reaction to his news of her family’s involvement in her life? Her reaction to him?
It was all there, she was sure, and he was looking hard enough to see it.
The click she’d heard over lunch made sense now. A smile played on her lips as she shook her head. Love for her tight-knit family filled up her heart. They were forever in her business, and she loved them for it.
Michael’s head dipped as he looked right into her eyes. “Jackie, you have to report this.” His voice was low, intimate. He wasn’t demanding anything. Instead it seemed he pled her for his sake. Like her safety was something personal to him, not just a commitment he’d made to her brother.
She ran her tongue along her bottom lip. “The judge granted a temporary peace order this morning. A hearing is scheduled next week.” A hearing at which Mitch would be present, standing beside her, twisting words to make himself look like the poster child of an upstanding citizen doing his part to serve his country. She didn’t want to think about in what light he’d paint her. Already she felt herself shrinking from the untrue and embarrassing accusations, whatever they might be.
Michael’s presence in front of her pulsed with strength. It was in his bearing, an air about him she couldn’t really describe. More than his chiseled physique from rigorous workouts, it originated deeper, integrated into his character, and flowed from his very existence.
She could use some of that.
“Would you…” What was she doing? She couldn’t let herself rely on another guy. He’s not Mitch. Brett trusted him, and if she were honest with herself, she trusted him too.
Which scared her more than she was willing to admit.
He readjusted his weight on the crutch. “Go ahead. You can ask me.”
A quick glance at his face confirmed her suspicion. How did he do that? How could he read her mind and know what she was going to say before she said it?
She took a deep breath and plunged ahead, trying not to care if her request made her sound weak. “Mitch will be at the hearing, and I have no idea what sort of things he’s going to say to get out of this, but I have to be there even though I don’t want to see him or hear his lies. So I was thinking maybe you could come as sort of moral support, but you totally don’t have to if you don’t want to or you’re too busy or something.” You can shut up now. She pressed her lips in between her teeth to keep from rambling on, peeking from behind her lashes to gauge his reaction.
Michael smiled wide, contained laughter slightly shaking his shoulders. “Anyone ever tell you you’re cute when you’re nervous?”
Inane jabbering at the speed of a hummingbird’s wing was cute, huh? Heat filled her face.
“I’m honored you asked. I guess that means the jury came back with a verdict and we’re friends now?”
A small smile lifted her lips. “Friends.”
Heaven help her, but now she wanted more.
Chapter Fourteen
England, 1944
“I think the plane was sabotaged.”
“That’s a mighty big accusation, Galloway. Do you have any proof?” Commander Gower’s eyes bore in to A
lice.
Proof? Not a one, and by the way the fuselage exploded when Teresa’s plane crashed, she doubted there would be any. But the pull of her gut and the memory of the flight captain’s smirk had been enough for her to walk into Gower’s office and declare her suspicions.
“No, ma’am. But if you had been there, seen how that man had belittled us women and then his rage when I stepped in to stop his tirade against Teresa, you would have your suspicions as well. Plus, he originally ordered me to fly that plane. After he thought I had disrespected him.” She hung her head. “Teresa should still be alive. It should have been me in that plane.”
Gower sighed and rubbed at her forehead. “Unfortunately, without solid proof there is nothing that can be done, even if your theory is correct.”
She was going to be sick. Not only had she gotten a fellow pilot and sweet lady killed, she wasn’t able to see justice done for her murder.
“Remember your first day I told you the Nazis weren’t the only enemy you’d have here?”
Alice nodded.
“This could possibly be an example of that. I’ve heard reports of sugar dumped in fuel tanks causing malfunctions and birds to go down to the detriment of its pilots. Was that the case here? We’ll probably never know.” Commander Gower leaned forward on her forearms. “But you have to be smart, Galloway.” She tapped her temple. “Use your head. If some testosterone-fueled bloke starts mouthing off, ignore him. You know the truth.” She sat back in her chair. “If you engage in every battle, you’ll be too weary to win the war.”
Alice understood, and the lecture pricked her already heavy conscience.
“You may go, Galloway.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She stood and saluted, about-faced, and walked out the door.
