by Irene Hannon
“The omelets smell great.” He claimed the opposite end of the small sofa, set his coffee down, and picked up a plate.
“It’s an easy late-night snack—or an anytime fast meal. When I worked overseas, I often put in irregular hours. Omelets were a quick dinner.”
He cut off a bite of the egg dish. Why had she brought up her past again if she didn’t want to talk about it?
Be careful, Stone. Approach with caution.
“Was that while you worked for the Bureau of Diplomatic Security?” She’d mentioned her job once, so that question ought to be safe.
“Yes.” She sipped her coffee and picked up her own plate. “I learned to eat a lot of strange fare in some of the places the State Department sent me, but omelets were always my go-to comfort food.” She took a miniscule bite. “Joe—my husband—liked them too.”
They were back to the man she’d married . . . and now she’d offered a name.
Had he misinterpreted her reaction in the kitchen—or had she decided to share some background with him after all?
“How did you two meet?” That simple, standard question shouldn’t elicit any pushback . . . but he broached it with the tentativeness of an explosives expert defusing a bomb.
“On the job—in Turkey.” She forked another bite of omelet and motioned to his plate. “You better eat. Cold pizza is fine. Cold omelets, not so much.”
In silence, he followed her suggestion. If she chose to say more, fine. If she didn’t, he was done asking questions. The last thing he wanted to do was end this evening on a sour note.
It didn’t take long to finish the tasty egg dish, though Lexie still had half of hers left as he ate his last bite. Same dilemma he’d had at the reception. He was going to have to do a better job pacing himself if he wanted to fit into polite—
“Joe worked for a US defense contractor. I was stationed at the embassy as a regional security officer.” She continued to pick at her food while she threw out a few more tidbits. “DS is the law enforcement arm of the Department of State. We provided security for department personnel. But in a lot of hot spots, like Turkey, our ranks were supplemented by contractors.”
“It sounds like dangerous work.”
“It can be.”
He waited, but when she didn’t continue, he took a chance and asked what he hoped was an innocuous question. “How did you get interested in that kind of work? Was it a family tradition?”
“No.” She snagged a renegade mushroom. “My dad and grandfather worked for the lumber mill outside of town their whole life. I don’t know where my fascination with law enforcement came from, but it goes back to my childhood. While other girls were playing with dolls and dreaming about getting married, I hung around our police chief, Sam Martin. Eventually he made me an honorary deputy and encouraged my interest.”
“Yet you went into diplomatic security instead.”
“Same field, only bigger league and more exotic settings. I figured if I was going to be in law enforcement, why not get a job that would give me a chance to travel and experience the world? After the glamour wore off, I could always find a position like the one I have now.”
“Is that what happened? The glamour wore off?”
“No. I liked the job.” She laid down her fork, picked up her mug, and dispensed with any pretense of eating. “My five-year plan was to work for DS in a couple more overseas locations and reevaluate at that stage. Romance was not on my agenda. Then I met Joe, and everything changed . . . including my priorities.”
Brow puckered, she tucked her feet under her and thumbed off a lipstick smudge on the rim of her mug. Like the one on the mug back at his cabin.
The one he’d planned to wash off every day since her visit but never had.
Thank goodness no one other than him and Clyde knew about that—and his canine friend wouldn’t be talking.
He studied the creases on her forehead. “You weren’t happy about falling in love?”
“Not at first. It disrupted my plans. But Joe was such an incredible man.” Her throat contracted. “I know this is going to sound cliché, but it was love at first sight.”
“That’s how it works in a lot of movies too.”
“Movies don’t always depict real life—but our romance was kind of like a Hollywood story.” Her last word wavered, and she drew in a breath. Let it out. “I fought the attraction at first but finally realized I was being a fool. Joe was the real deal. Smart, funny, high-energy, principled, enthusiastic, committed, brave . . . I could keep going, but you get the picture. He’d had a long career as a Navy SEAL before his contracting gig.”
She’d been married to a Navy SEAL?
His spirits tanked.
Those guys were the cream of the crop. The best the nation had to offer, with impeccable credentials and spotless backgrounds.
He was totally hosed.
Adam took a sip of coffee and tried to think of some appropriate reply.
Lexie saved him the effort by picking up the story. “Joe was also very single-minded. If he wanted something, he went after it.”
“Like you?” Adam took one last swallow of coffee and set the mug down. It was cold now, anyway.
“Yes. However, since romances among staff members—contractors included—were frowned upon, we conducted ours under the radar. But he got tired of that fast and wanted to get married.”
“Did you?”
“Not right away. After we got serious, I bid on a special agent assignment in San Francisco, which I was assured was a slam dunk. As soon as that came through, Joe planned to leave his job and open a domestic security firm in San Francisco. After we were both stateside, we’d get married here in Hope Harbor. A year later, I’d resign from government service and join him in the firm. We had everything worked out.”
And then Joe died.
But how? Where? As far as he knew, no one in town had ever met Lexie’s husband. That would suggest they’d married ahead of schedule. Why?
Adam bit back the questions tripping over his tongue and asked a different, less intrusive one.
“Did you both come back?”
“No. My assignment was confirmed, but they extended my stay in Turkey for three months until my replacement could get there. Joe didn’t want to wait four or five more months to have a wedding in Hope Harbor.”
“So you got married over there?”
“Yes. On the QT. I didn’t even wear my wedding ring at work. We stole what hours we could together. It wasn’t ideal, but we had our sights on San Francisco, and a vow renewal and reception here. It was supposed to be a short-term inconvenience. Except it ended up being a lot shorter than either of us e-expected.” She leaned forward to set her mug down. With both hands.
Because she’d begun to shake.
Badly.
Adam’s gut clenched. Every instinct in his body urged him to tug her against his chest, stroke her cheek . . . and try to make everything better.
But he couldn’t fix whatever had gone horribly wrong in her life—and he had no experience consoling a grieving woman. He was out of his league here. She was out of his league.
He fisted his hands and closed his eyes.
God, what should I do? Please tell me!
The Almighty remained silent as Lexie’s almost tangible anguish seeped into his soul.
Then, all at once, Luis’s comment from earlier in the evening echoed in his mind.
“The key in any situation is to listen with the heart . . . and follow where it leads.”
If that was true, Lexie wouldn’t be sitting there alone in her sorrow. She’d be wrapped in his arms.
But he was no Joe, with a pedigree worthy of this woman. Overstepping bounds could be a fatal mistake. Just because she’d told him her story didn’t mean she’d welcome a . . .
He froze as a tiny, choked sob ruptured the stillness.
She was trying not to cry. To be strong. To lock her emotions inside and maintain the act-together image she presen
ted to the world as the town police chief.
But she didn’t have to do that with him.
Quashing his fear, he twined her cold, quivering fingers with his. Not as bold as a hug—but better than nothing.
“It’s okay, Lexie. Tears aren’t a sign of weakness. I shed plenty myself over the past few years.” True . . . though only Reverend Baker and God had witnessed them.
“I don’t c-cry anymore. I’m past that.”
Not if the vise grip she had on his hand and the shimmer in her blue irises were any indication.
And they’d come too far now to back away from the hard stuff.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“It’s not pretty.”
“I’m used to ugly.”
A few beats passed. “This might be hard. I’ve never told my story to anyone except State Department personnel.”
“What about your mom?” Surely, as close as they were, Lexie had shared the details with her.
“No. She knows the bare facts, but nothing about the . . . the guilt.”
Guilt?
“I don’t understand.”
“You would, if you knew the story.” She examined their clasped hands.
“You know I’ll keep whatever you tell me in confidence.”
“Yes—or I wouldn’t even have told you this much.”
He didn’t say anything else. The decision to share more had to come from within, not from outside pressure.
“Okay. Let me see how far I get.” She moistened her lips, and a pulse began to throb in the hollow of her throat. “Two weeks before we were scheduled to come home, a crowd of protestors gathered in front of the embassy. Joe and his crew were summoned to supplement our team on the off chance we might need additional support. We’d had similar situations, and groups like that always dispersed after a while.”
“I take it this one was different.”
“Yes. After it got dark, the protest turned violent. A rocket-propelled grenade hit the main building. Hand grenades came flying over the walls. A huge group of armed militants surged out of the crowd, rushed the Marine security guards, and broke through the gates. It was chaos.” A shudder rippled through her.
Adam edged closer and draped his free arm around her shoulders.
She didn’t pull away.
“This isn’t a great bedtime s-story.” Tremors shook her body as well as her words.
“Don’t worry. I know life isn’t a fairy tale. I don’t expect happy endings . . . and I’ve learned to deal with nightmares.”
A full minute passed in silence. But he could sense her shoring up her resolve to continue.
At last she did, tightening her grip on his hand. “While I and some of my colleagues secured embassy personnel in the safe room, Joe and his crew fought back the militants alongside our own security people and the Marines. After our people were as safe as we could make them, most of us dispersed to assist in the fight while we waited for additional help to arrive.”
Adam tried to wrap his mind around Lexie going head-to-head with a rabid terrorist. Abandoned the effort. The whole notion freaked him out.
Better to focus on logistics.
“How fast did you get help?”
“Fast. There were injuries and massive destruction on our side, but only one person died. And it was . . . it was m-my fault.”
Adam’s pulse stuttered.
Lexie thought her husband’s death was her fault?
No way.
“I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true.” She looked up at him, her eyes dark pools of misery. “After I went outside, I ran into Joe. He told me to go back in and guard the ambassador in the safe room. That he and his team were better equipped to deal with the situation.”
“Were they?”
“Yes. I was trained for hostile situations—but I’d never had that training tested in the field. He was a veteran of hundreds of SEAL missions in enemy territory. Most of his colleagues were ex-military too. But I didn’t think it was fair to duck the fight. Instead of going back in, I stayed outside and lurked around the edges, ready to provide support if they needed me. I thought that was my job.”
“It was—wasn’t it?”
“Yes . . . but Joe and his team were doing fine on their own, and the embassy staff was a priority. The safe room wasn’t infallible.”
“Did they end up needing you outside?”
“No. After a while, I accepted the logic of Joe’s suggestion and started back toward the main building. I was almost there when a terrorist came barreling around the corner not fifty feet in front of me.”
Adam’s heart lurched again. “What happened?”
“I shot at him . . . and missed. I knew I wouldn’t get a second chance. The guy had an AK-47.”
A word from his rougher days almost slipped out.
He hadn’t lied about learning to deal with nightmares, but he had a feeling this one was going to haunt him for a very long time.
Yet Lexie had survived. That was what mattered.
“What happened?”
“Out of nowhere, someone took him out. Joe, I found out later. But as the militant fell, he squeezed the trigger. His gun was in full automatic mode, and in the spray of bullets I got clipped in the leg.”
Dear God.
Lexie had been shot!
Despite his seedy past and the bad characters who’d peopled his world for most of his life, she’d come closer to death than he ever had.
“How badly were you hurt?” He could barely squeeze out the question.
“Not as badly as I could have been. Two operations and some intense physical therapy got me back on my feet faster than I expected. Joe wasn’t as lucky.”
Right.
This was supposed to be about Joe.
“What happened?”
“As I was lying on the pavement, I saw him running across the courtyard. He yelled, ‘Hang on. Everything’s going to be fine.’ More shots were fired. He twisted. Fell over. There was a barrage of gunfire—and everything after that is a blur. But I do know if I’d done what he asked in the beginning, he’d be alive today. He died trying to help me.” A tear brimmed on her lower lid. Spilled over. Trailed down.
Adam drew in a lungful of air. She hadn’t lied. Her story wasn’t pretty.
No wonder she shied away from talking about it.
“I’m so sorry.” Lame—but what else was there to say in the face of such tragedy?
“Me too. Joe was a good man. And he would have been a great father. Maybe . . . maybe if we’d known I was pregnant, we both would have been more careful that day.”
Another shock wave reverberated through him. “You didn’t know?”
“No. I found out while I was in the hospital being treated for the wounds in my leg.”
In the silence that followed, Adam ticked through all the traumas Lexie had endured. She’d lost her new husband—and blamed herself for his death. Suffered gunshot wounds. Discovered she was carrying a baby who would never know his father. Watched all her plans for the future disintegrate in seconds.
Most people would have folded under one or two of those setbacks.
Yet she’d not only survived, but carried on. She’d built a new life, taken on a responsible job, and was doing a fine job raising her son as a single parent.
That took guts. And courage. And grace.
“You’re sorry you asked, aren’t you?” She watched him, her tone tentative.
“No. I’m trying to absorb everything.” He exhaled. “And I thought life had dealt me some tough blows.”
“It has—and spread out over a much longer period.”
“Nothing like what you’ve been through, though. I never lost anyone I loved.”
“I hope you never do. But bad as that is, the guilt compounds it.”
He narrowed his eyes. Now that he was beginning to digest her story, a couple of pieces weren’t fitting—including the guilt.
“Yo
u know, I think you’re being too hard on yourself. You were doing what you believed your job required. It took a lot of courage to go outside in the midst of that kind of danger—and stay there after Joe told you to go back inside.”
“No.” She shook her head. “It was my duty to protect embassy personnel. Courage is walking into danger by choice.”
“Were you scared?”
“Yes.”
“But you went anyway—and stayed longer than you had to. I call that brave.”
“Joe didn’t agree. He said it was crazy.”
“He was in love with you. In his place, I would have said and done the same.” And that brought him to the other piece that didn’t fit. She might not like what he had to say, but if she hadn’t considered it, she needed to. “To tell you the truth, I have a feeling it was more his distraction than your foolishness that led to disaster.”
“What do you mean?”
“After you went down, it sounds as if he acted like a man in love rather than an ex-SEAL trained to evaluate danger before taking action. If you had been a stranger to him, do you think he would have rushed out into the open like that, toward you?”
She bit her bottom lip. “I . . . don’t know.”
“My guess is he would have stayed under cover until he was certain the danger was gone. Or tried to get to you by hugging the edge of the building and working his way over.”
“Even if that’s true, had I gone back inside, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“But that wasn’t what you were trained to do. Did your superiors—or any of your husband’s colleagues—blame you?”
“No.”
“How did the media position his death?”
“They reported it as a nameless casualty in the initial stories. While the details were being sorted out, a much bigger incident at one of our diplomatic compounds in Libya usurped their attention. In comparison to that, the death of one contractor didn’t matter enough to merit further coverage.” A twinge of resentment crept into her voice.
So the world hadn’t noticed—or honored—her husband’s sacrifice.
Another bitter pill to swallow.
“I’m sorry, Lexie. For everything. I wish I could offer more than trite sentiments.”
