Hero of My Heart (The McRae Series, Book 5 - Will)

by Teresa Hill

  He had to keep moving and get her out of here. She was his mission. She'd saved her kids, and he was going to save her. He just had to hope everything worked out for the rest of the hostages.

  Will took stock of their position, using the map in his head to orient himself. He'd left a go-to-hell pack in a vacant building two blocks to the west, in case it all went to hell and he thought his best chance of saving Amanda was to hide out and let everything calm down in the city. The U.S. Embassy was about eight blocks north. If he could get her there safely, she'd be evacuated with the rest of the Americans, and he could hope they all got out safely. And he'd stashed the Jeep three blocks to the east, in case he thought it best to get out of town as fast as they could.

  Looking at turmoil around him, not knowing how far it might spread or how dangerous it might become, he decided their best bet was the Jeep.

  Amanda was sobbing now, and no doubt terrified, but she'd stopped fighting. Good.

  By the time he got near the Jeep, the crowd was thinning, the noise diminishing. He took the chance of slipping into a recessed entryway that offered some protection and privacy, and he slid her off his shoulder and to her feet.

  She started fighting him again, and he had no choice. He had to use his body to pin her to the wall. The he spoke directly into her right ear.

  "Amanda, your father sent me," he said. He repeated her name until she finally stopped struggling.

  Then he eased his upper body away from hers and looked down at her through the darkness. She seemed to shrink back from him, although that was impossible. There was nowhere for her to go. Her back was against the wall. Still, she seemed to somehow pull deep inside herself and stared at him with giant, vacant eyes.

  "Amanda," he said slowly, "your father, James Warren, sent me to get you out of here."

  She shook her head. He could see the bruises on her forehead now, along with a big knot, a split lip and a bruised cheek.

  Someone had beaten her up before he'd gotten into the school.

  He pushed that thought aside, because he had to. He had things to do. First, to convince her he was who he said he was and get her to cooperate with him.

  "Amanda?" He'd lost her for a moment, but her gaze came back to him at that. "I'm an American. Master Chief Petty Officer Will Gerard, U.S. Navy. Your father sent me. Do you understand?"

  She shook her head, was trembling badly. Her lower lip quivered. She'd been through so much. "How do I know for sure?"

  There we go. She was with him now, and Will had prepared for this. Mace had found a couple of things Will could use to convince her of who he was.

  "Your father said to tell you he's stocking up on FunkyChunky Popcorn and Cannoli ice cream for when you get home."

  She froze, trying to take it in. "Really? My father sent you?"

  "Really." Will took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up toward his. He needed to know she'd heard and understood him. "Now, we need to get out of here. I don't know what's going to happen while we do that, and I need for you to do exactly what I say, when I say it."

  And then he lost her again. Her eyes got so big and dazed, and she tried that shrinking-away-from-him thing, even though her back was firmly against the wall.

  "Hey?" He forced her chin up again, wondering what she thought he was going to ask her to do. "I'm trying to keep you safe. If I say be quiet, you don't make a sound. If I say be still, you're still. If I say run... Are you hurt? Can you run?"

  "I think so," she said.

  "If you can't, tell me. I'll carry you."

  She shook her head, clearly not wanting him to do that.

  He started running his hands over her body, checking for any obvious injuries. She whimpered, started panting. When he got to her right side, she flinched.

  "Ribs?" he asked.

  She nodded, trying to make herself as small as possible by drawing in her shoulders and dipping her head down low.

  "Anything else?" he demanded, looking her over and seeing a few scrapes and bruises, a few small bloodstains on her clothes here and there, nothing too alarming.

  She shook her head. He wasn't sure he believed her, but she didn't seem to be in any immediate danger from a bullet or blood loss, so he let it go.

  She kept doing that thing where she wasn't quite all there. He understood the need, but couldn't allow it.

  "Hey," he said, maybe a little too loudly, because he startled her, and she looked terrified again. "I know you're scared right now. I know it's hard to trust anyone. But I need you to trust me enough to do what I say. I am going to do everything I can to get you out of here and back to your father. Do you understand?"

  "My father? Really?"

  "Yes. Cannoli ice cream. Sounds good. Never knew there was such a thing." He waited a second, trying to let that sink in. "Okay, I have a vehicle back there. We're going to get in it and drive for a while. All you have to do is sit there and not fight me. Don't try to jump out of the Jeep or anything like that, okay?"

  He'd tie her to her seat, if he had to. It would scare her half to death all over again, but he wasn't going to let her jump out of a moving vehicle. He was going to get her home. All they had to do was find a place to hide, hopefully have a helicopter pick them up and get out of the country, ideally while staying out of the way of a coup attempt.

  Chapter 9

  Baxter, Ohio

  Amanda thought she remembered a bit of that, too.

  The recessed doorway, the shadowed light, that glimpse of Will in big, scary, soldier mode, demanding she listen to him and do what he said. That big, hard body of his pressed up against her, holding her upright. Something both frightening and reassuring in his physical presence. The strength, the utter resolve.

  It had been so appealing to know she didn't have to think or make any decisions. She just had to put herself in his hands and let him take care of her.

  She wanted to do that right now. Leaning into him, she let her head drop to his shoulder. He angled his body sideways toward hers, his arm around her back, his big, warm hand on her shoulder in the gentlest of embraces.

  He smelled good, felt so solid, like he could wrap her up in his arms, and she would be safe. No more demons. No more nightmares. No more wanting to hide in the corner.

  "You okay?" he asked.

  "Yes," she whispered, closing her eyes and drawing in the feeling of being this close to him.

  "Remember anything?"

  "A flash or two, that's all. It's so weird. I can see the merest hint of it, like a ghostly outline, just out of reach."

  "You're trembling, Amanda."

  She was. She hadn't realized.

  "Did I do the wrong thing by telling you?"

  "No. I don't know, Will. I asked you to. I'm not sorry you did, and you're right. I don't see anything in what you said that sounds like it would be worse than what I already knew happened."

  Another giant shudder went through her, and he leaned in a little bit more, his chin coming to rest at the top of her head, all the heat of his body reassuringly closer. His other hand found hers. Everything about this makeshift embrace was perfect.

  "Is this all right?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  It was sheer bliss, reassurance and kindness and gentleness and a man's strength to lean on—not fear.

  "You'd tell me if I made you uncomfortable, right? Say the word, and I'll back off."

  "I know that, Will." She could feel it in how slowly and carefully he'd moved closer, how gentle he kept his hold.

  She wanted to take him home with her, and know that if anything scared her in the night, she could reach out her hand, and he'd be there. She thought she wouldn't be afraid of anything with him this close, and wouldn't that be the most amazing thing?

  She sat there, feeling his chest rise and fall with each slow, deep breath, fighting the urge to grab a handful of his shirt and hang on tight, so he couldn't get away. Or maybe take her free hand and press it flat over his heart to feel it beat. She was
so happy he was here and alive and with her.

  She sat there as long as she dared, then pulled herself together and made herself lift her head.

  It was dark now, she realized, and his face was close but in the shadows.

  Then, in a moment, she did see him.

  Not here and now, but in Buhkai.

  A flash of his face, close up, from that time in the arched doorway after he'd gotten her out of the school.

  God, he did look fierce, and so intent, so determined, so tough.

  She must have made some sound, because she was so startled to be back there so completely and suddenly so scared. Who knew it could hurt physically to be that scared? Like taking a jolt from what she imagined a Taser would feel like.

  Will stood up and backed away.

  She jumped up, too, as she found herself back in the backyard. The shelter. Ohio. The U.S. Him.

  "You remembered?" he asked.

  "Just a little. Just... It's weird. Sometimes, it's like I'm back there. Like I can travel through time and be there. And then I'm here again, in the present."

  "Shit, I'm sorry. I said too much—"

  "No, I'm all right. It's going to come out, Will. It has to. Carrying it inside? It feels like poison, like this big, scary, evil thing inside of me. I'm carrying it all the time, and I know it's just waiting for its time to attack, to blindside me with all the memories, all the fear. I have to get it out. Does that make sense?"

  "I guess so. I've seen people carry things inside them, not able to let go, to get any distance from them. And I've seen people torn apart by those things, so, yeah, I guess I do understand. But the process? How do you get rid of poison?"

  "Like this, I think."

  "Jesus, Amanda."

  "I'm okay," she insisted. "I wanted to know. Please don't feel bad about what you told me. It's what happened. It's my life—"

  "You said it was like poison," he reminded her.

  "And I got a little bit of it out. That's what matters. Thank you for that."

  He made a disgusted sound. "You can't thank me for that."

  "I just did, and I meant it. Thank you. I have to go home now. My father will worry. I never stay out after dark anymore. But thank you for today. It was a good day. Well, a good afternoon, at least."

  He let out a long, slow breath, sounding like he felt as weary as she did.

  "Can I come back?" she asked.

  "If that's what you want."

  "It is." She picked up her purse and looked inside for her keys. When she found them, she held them up, to show she was ready to go.

  "Come on. I'll walk you out."

  He lead her to a heavy, metal gate, punched in a code, and after a mechanical click, opened the gate for her to walk through.

  After making sure it was securely fastened behind them, he put a hand at her back lightly, steering her down the driveway and out to the street. He didn't touch her anywhere else, and she found herself wishing he would, wishing she was still in that kind, sweet embrace of his, feeling every breath he took.

  That was so much better than sitting in the corner with her back pressed against the walls.

  They got to her car, and he took her keys from her hand, unlocked and opened the door, then waited for her to get inside.

  "Do you walk all the women to their cars when they leave here in the dark?" she asked.

  "Yes, I do."

  She wondered how many of them got to pour out their troubles to him and lay their heads on his shoulder. She might be jealous.

  "Want me to drive you home? Or I could follow you, to make sure you get there okay."

  "No, thank you. I can do it." Although, looking around, standing beside the open door of her car, she decided she didn't like the dark. It seemed so much more menacing than being outside in the daylight.

  He looked like he wanted to argue, maybe to follow her home anyway. Which would have been reassuring, but she was trying to convince him she wasn't that fragile, that he could tell her things, and she wouldn't fall apart. She was driving herself home.

  "Goodnight, Will."

  "Goodnight."

  Before she lost her courage, she whispered, "Sitting outside on the bench with you, with my head on your shoulder? That was the best I've felt, the safest, since I woke up in the hospital in Germany."

  Then she turned and climbed into the car.

  * * *

  Will couldn't let her leave that way.

  She couldn't say things like that to him and then leave.

  Finally, he called out to her. "I'm following you home."

  And he did, on the chance that maybe she wasn't all that comfortable on the streets alone after dark. He wasn't going to have risked his ass getting her out of Buhkai only to lose her to some bad guy on the streets of Ohio. And he couldn't stand the idea of her being scared.

  She drove slowly and carefully along the five miles between the shelter and her house, and he followed about twenty yards back.

  Jesus, what was it with this woman?

  She shouldn't be here with him. She shouldn't be touching him, shouldn't be anywhere close to him. She shouldn't look up at him with those big, beautiful, blue-green eyes like she thought he was some kind of superman, some kind of damned hero.

  And then there were moments when she looked at him—he could swear—like a woman who was interested in a man, and it couldn't be that. She was confused. She'd been traumatized, and he'd been there with her for part of it. He knew exactly what it was. He'd rescued her, so she was feeling things she wouldn't feel under normal circumstances.

  But still, she was so damned hard to resist.

  He could take care of her. He'd be careful with her, give her as much time as she needed, for as long as she needed him. Why not?

  Shit, he knew exactly why not.

  She was extremely vulnerable, wasn't thinking clearly, was lost and scared and latching onto anything familiar, and a part of her remembered him.

  He had to remember that. He had to treat her in a way that showed he knew that. Still, it was hard to keep his hands off her, even when all he wanted to do was reassure her that she was safe now.

  She pulled into the long driveway at her father's house, and he waited on the street out front. He wasn't going anywhere until he saw her walk inside.

  She got out of the car and walked down the driveway toward him.

  Dammit, Amanda.

  All she had to do was go inside.

  He swore again as he watched her come closer, his hands clenched hard on the steering wheel. He wasn't getting out. He wasn't touching her again.

  When she got close enough that he could make out her expression, she smiled at him and mouthed a "thank you," then turned and walked inside.

  * * *

  Amanda waited three days to go back to the shelter and see him.

  It felt like an eternity.

  She'd had a small standoff with her father when she'd gotten home so late the last time she'd seen Will. Her father had been worried and hurt, even though she'd texted him twice and said she was fine and at the shelter.

  Twice, she'd seen Emma, who talked Amanda through what Will had told her and the feelings it had brought up. She'd had no real memories come back, except that vivid flash of his face.

  She'd spent some time in her favorite corner, was still panicky at times, still shaky. But it was so much more pleasant to obsess about a certain attractive, very private man than her own problems.

  And why shouldn't she?

  Thinking about Will was so much better.

  Even better than thinking about him was seeing him. Finally, she let herself do just that.

  She got to the shelter about twenty minutes after the school bus normally dropped off the kids, and when she rang the doorbell, he answered it right away.

  "Hi," she said, giving him a big smile.

  "Amanda." He hesitated, then said, "Come into the kitchen with me."

  Was it her imagination, or did he not look happy to see her?
"Is something wrong?"

  "No. I thought you were somebody else," he said.

  Someone else?

  A woman?

  That was her first thought, and she hated it. She stopped in the doorway to the kitchen and asked, "Should I go?"

  He hesitated, finally said, "We have new residents coming in, a mother and her two children. It can be a little hectic sometimes, especially coming in... the way they're coming. I don't know if you want to see this, Amanda."

  "Oh. I understand."

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  She nodded.

  "Nothing's happened?"

  "No. I'm fine. I'll come back another day."

  "Come on. I'll walk you out," he said, falling into step beside her, his hand lightly resting low on her back, stirring up heat and a little buzz of happy nerve endings.

  Just as they got to the front door, the bell rang.

  Amanda jumped, startled. Will leaned in close, his side pressed against hers, steadying her for a moment.

  "Sorry," she said.

  "The bell's too loud. I keep meaning to do something about that."

  He looked through the peephole, then undid all the locks and opened the door.

  Amanda gasped when she saw the woman standing there. She had a big, puffy eyelid and cheek, and a red and painful-looking split lip. There was a heavy bandage across her nose, which Amanda guessed was broken, and stitches on her forehead.

  She looked Amanda's age, maybe older, or maybe younger and just more tired, more scared. In one arm, the woman held a little girl of maybe three. The child's head was buried in the woman's shoulder like she was either exhausted or terrified, or probably both. Holding the woman's other hand was a little boy who huddled against her, his eyes big and round for a moment before he slid behind the woman's legs and tried to hide.

  No bandages or bruises on the kids that Amanda could see.

  Thank God.

  A buzz of fear surrounded them. Amanda could feel it so clearly.

  "Hi, I'm Will," he said, stepping in. "You must be Melanie. Come on in."