Honoring Lena

by Sara Blackard

  Honoring Lena

  A Sweet Romantic Suspense

  Sara Blackard

  Copyright © 2021 Sara Blackard

  For more information on this book and the author visit: https://www.sarablackard.com

  * * *

  Editor Raneé S. Clark with Sweetly Us Press.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination or are used for fictional purposes.

  One

  The melodic sound of laughter shot Marshall Rand’s gaze across the Siné Irish Pub in Arlington, Virginia. It had been a mistake choosing this place with all its memories. The instant he’d walked through the door and seen the happy couple at his and Amara’s spot, he’d regretted giving in to nostalgia and having his assistant, Ed, set up the meeting there with the new investor instead of in DC. He didn’t need the memories his murdered wife’s favorite restaurant resurrected to keep him moving forward with his goals. He had all the incentive he needed just looking in his son’s big brown eyes that looked just like his mom’s.

  “So, do we have a deal?” Patrick Walker, the CEO for Moving Forward, asked as he rubbed his mouth with his napkin.

  Marshall pulled his gaze from the couple and extended his hand across the table. “I look forward to working with you.”

  Despite Marshall’s distraction, the meeting had been a success. With Moving Forward coming on as an investor to his manufacturing company, he’d be able to build another warehouse in Texas completely dedicated to the products they created for June Rivas’s inventions. The savings in freight and ability to have their researchers work more closely would benefit even more troops the inventions went to.

  The more units equipped with the Eyes Beyond and latest body armor suit June had created, the more lives saved. The more lives saved, the more guilt Marshall could lift from his shoulders. At least, he hoped that would be the case.

  Patrick glanced at his watch, his eyes widening. “Well then, I’ve got another meeting to get to. I’ll have paperwork sent over for you to look at.” He clapped Ed, who sat next to him, on the shoulder. “Thanks for a great lunch, boys.”

  “Any time.” Marshall nodded as Patrick stood and headed for the door.

  With that meeting out of the way, Marshall turned to his assistant, Ed. “Where are we with Senator Hammond?”

  “Can’t you bask in success for a minute?” Ed Ross, Marshall’s assistant and best friend since college, shook his head and motioned toward Patrick’s receding form. “He hasn’t even made it out the door, and you’re already on to the next conquest.”

  “The vote on the term limit bill is less than a week away.” Marshall poked at the last of his lunch. “We need Hammond behind it if it has a chance of passing.”

  Ed pointed his chicken wing at Marshall, dripping Siné’s signature sauce on the table. “You’ll never get him to back the bill if you don’t offer him something in return.”

  “I don’t mind supporting him and his plans,” Marshall said, his voice firm. “But that benefit he’s hosting puts money directly into pockets I refuse to fill.”

  Ed grimaced at Marshall like he was a petulant child. “You and your high horse.”

  “I won’t compromise my beliefs, Ed.” Marshall stabbed a bite of his banger with his fork and scooped it through the last of his garlic potatoes. “Not again.”

  His gaze darted back to the table that held so many memories before he forced himself to focus on his meal. He needed to remember in the future when nostalgia hit to smother it. Nothing but regret and heartache filled the past, and tormenting himself with Amara’s favorite hangouts while they visited this cesspool called the Capitol only made things worse.

  His stomach hardened with grief, and he set his fork on the plate. He stared out the window as Ed sulked over his wings. A mother pulled her son down the sidewalk. The boy had blonde hair sticking in all directions like Marshall’s son did. The two boys looked about the same age. The reminder of Carter softened the rock of grief lodged in Marshall’s stomach.

  The past hadn’t just left sorrow and agony behind. Carter lived as a testament to Marshall’s love for Amara. Marshall would do everything in his power to be the man of character Carter deserved—to be a better father than he had been a husband.

  “Marsh, listen.” Ed pushed his plate to the edge of the table and rested his forearms on the empty space.

  His face took on that look he got when someone tested his tenacity. The expression had always marveled Marshall, causing him to settle in for whatever heated debate Ed would get into. Marshall resented being on the receiving end of Ed’s bull-doggedness. If the man wasn’t Marshall’s closest friend, the pushing would end up with a termination notice.

  “If you don’t bend some, this trip will be a complete waste.” Ed squeezed his hands together. “You can’t make change without compromise.”

  Marshall had stubbornness to match. He hadn’t won the Kentucky congressional seat on his good looks alone—hadn’t taken Amara’s already prosperous company and shot it into the stratosphere of success. He hired Ed to be the balance he needed in these situations, but it rankled that he’d have to explain to him again.

  “I compromise plenty.” Marshall tossed his napkin on his half-eaten meal and leaned back in his chair, his gaze darting to his head of security, Tony, sitting a table over as he put his hand to his ear and nodded. “I can’t put my support behind Hammond’s fundraiser, not with my questions unanswered.”

  “It’s the Cry Out Against Human Trafficking organization, for Pete’s sake. How could you possibly be against helping those victims?”

  “I’m not against helping, and you know that.” Marshall’s chest heated at the accusation. “I’m just not convinced the organization is on the up and up. There are red flags waving that I can’t ignore.”

  “I’ve read up on them, and they seem fine. Better than fine.” Ed tapped his index finger on the table. “You won’t get Hammond to budge. In fact, he may undo everything we’ve accomplished so far.”

  Marshall stared Ed down, though he inwardly cringed. Ed brought up some valid points. Was Marshall cutting himself off at the knees with his stubbornness? He shook his head with a sigh. Something didn’t sit right with the organization. He had that twisting feeling in his gut that told him something was off. He’d ignored that instinct before, pushed it aside for the better good.

  He stared back across the restaurant at the happy couple. Being a widower wasn’t better or good. He promised himself he wouldn’t ignore that warning bell again, no matter who it upset or if it made his end goal more difficult to obtain. He could dig his heels in with the best of them.

  “It doesn’t matter what Leland Hammond does or doesn’t do.” Marshall smiled at the server as she brought the check and he handed her his credit card before turning back to Ed with a weariness that ached his muscles. “I left Congress after Amara’s murder because I refused to play the political game. Bending now isn’t an option and never will be.”

  “Marsh, you have to let that go.” Ed’s eyes held concern. “Amara’s accident, while tragic, can’t hold you down and bind your options anymore.”

  “Murder.” Heat rose up Marshall’s neck, and he swallowed it down. “There was no accident.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” Ed shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been two years. I don’t want to see her death strangle you anymore. Eventually, it could choke out everything and leave you
with nothing. Amara wouldn’t want that.”

  A headache throbbed behind Marshall’s eyes. Her death wasn’t strangling him. It fueled him. Keeping it in the forefront of his mind propelled him to work harder. He’d make her family company he’d inherited into a name that others equated with influence and power, bolstering the nation’s freedom he loved so much. Could wanting that as a monument to his wife be such a bad thing?

  Could his drive to make up for his colossal mistakes kill everything good left in his life? Carter filled Marshall’s mind. When was the last time he’d really played with his son? Sure, they saw each other every day, even bringing Carter along when Marshall had to travel. But were the snatches of thirty minutes here and there enough? The three-year-old learned something new all the time, and Marshall barely had a moment to celebrate his son’s milestones.

  A pub employee set down the small folder with the credit card and receipt as they rushed past, and Marshall pushed the troubling thoughts aside. He could worry about his son and their relationship later. His focus had to remain on the task at hand—getting senators and congressmen to see reason and vote for limited terms. There had to be enough loyal to the republic to see that lifetime seats equated bad policy. When they all got back to Kentucky, he’d work in his schedule more time with Carter.

  “I just …” Ed sighed and met Marshall’s gaze. “I just want what’s best for you, man. I don’t want you to crash in a blaze of glory when you could cruise into your goals.”

  Marshall really looked at his best friend across the table. Though he had just turned thirty-one like Marshall, Ed’s hair was graying at his temples, and he appeared more worn around the edges than he should. Was that Marshall’s fault as well? Had his desire to right his own past put unnecessary strain on his friend?

  “Man, you know I’m not the cruisin’ type.” Marshall forced a laugh as he reached for his credit card. “But if it’ll make you happy, I’ll look into that organization again. Maybe I’m wrong.”

  Marshall opened the receipt holder and plucked up his card, his eyes skimming the handwritten note beneath the card. His hand froze, and the room closed in around him, blurring and slowing as he read the words again.

  Do what we say or your son will end up like your wife.

  “I know you’ll never slow down, but at least y—” The muffle of Ed’s voice thawed Marshall’s frozen muscles. “What? Marsh, what’s wrong?”

  Marshall picked up the note. His hand shaking made the paper flutter loudly in the air. Ed scanned the note and gulped. He lifted wide eyes to Marshall as his face paled.

  “We’re leaving.” Marshall shoved his chair out so fast it crashed to the floor. “We’re leaving now.”

  As he rushed to the door with the note bunched in his hand, he pulled out his phone and dialed Lena Rebel, Carter’s bodyguard that posed as his nanny, scanning the restaurant for the employee that had dropped off the receipt. She wasn’t anywhere in sight. In fact, he couldn’t remember seeing her before that either. The sinking feeling from earlier hit him again as he glanced back to their table where Ed threw the pen after scribbling a signature on the charge slip.

  The call connected, and Marshall didn’t wait for Lena to talk. “Is Carter safe?”

  “Yes. He’s right here with me in the house.” Lena’s answer fired at him with the efficiency he’d come to expect from her.

  Relief flooded through him. “Good. Keep him close. I’ll be there shortly to explain.”

  Marshall hung up before she could answer and stomped out the pub door, his frigid shock turning to white-hot anger. He didn’t understand what they wanted him to do, but no one threatened his family. Not again. He’d keep his family safe this time at all costs.

  Two

  “Eena, me needs yours help.” Carter Rand peered his big brown eyes up at Lena Rebel as he lifted the marker to her. “Pease.”

  He smiled, a look of such hopefulness on his face that Lena knew she’d break. Where had the tough, no-nonsense woman gone—the one who didn’t put up with strife from anyone? Where was the soldier who’d pushed herself to be the best, leaving men in the dust as she did? Where had the army medic disappeared to that had busted her chops to the top, earning an assignment with the special ops team? The one who would throat punch a man for an off comment just as quickly as she could staunch a gushing artery ripped open from enemy fire?

  “Pease, Eena?” Carter batted his incredibly long lashes and leaned into her leg.

  Oh, right. The big, warm eyes that reminded her of the color of moose hide and the sweet, squeaky voice that often spoke phrases that cut right to her steel heart had blown the woman she knew to smithereens. She hadn’t wanted this assignment, but Zeke had insisted that the Rand boy needed an undercover bodyguard. Being the only woman on the Stryker Security Force qualified to protect the precious toddler made her the perfect one to play nanny. Or so Zeke said. Her insistence that the whole Manny thing was rising in popularity, and one of the guys could just as easily take the job, hadn’t swayed Zeke’s decision.

  She should’ve tried harder.

  “Okay, Carter.” She sighed as she pulled him onto her lap, uncapped the marker, and flipped her notebook she’d been writing the morning’s report in to a blank page.

  She ran a hand over his downy hair as he scribbled on the paper. Over the last two months, Lena had found her carefully welded casing that she’d placed around her heart had chinks. A certain little boy had an uncanny way of seeping through the faults, softening her.

  Making her weak.

  She couldn’t afford weakness … vulnerability. She’d allowed that in once when she’d fallen in love with Ethan Stryker, the man who saw past her tough, Alaskan-bred exterior to the woman within who harbored hopes of finding a love like her parents had. The day he’d died, the hole in his chest as he’d lain lifeless on the helicopter deck had mirrored her own. When the fog of despair had lifted and she’d reluctantly come up for air, she’d started meticulously reinforcing the defenses around her shattered heart.

  One look at Carter’s blond hair that stuck up wildly like Ethan’s had proved she hadn’t worked hard enough at closing off her heart. Hadn’t she already known that, though? Her time at Stryker had verified she still had feelings and could care, even though she wished she couldn’t. Her need to push the soft-hearted Kiki and toughen her up had been more about Lena’s own need to protect her friend than Kiki’s desire to learn self-defense. Lena had to shield those powerless against life’s travesties so they wouldn’t end up wrecked like she had.

  She glanced down the hall, anxious for Mr. Rand to get there. She’d be having a nice conversation with him about keeping her in the dark. She couldn’t keep Carter safe if she didn’t have all the intel, and from Mr. Rand’s sharp tone, something had gone down.

  Carter softly sang “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,” the words skipping and getting jumbled as he tilted his head and scribbled away. Lena added her voice to his, causing him to peek back at her with a toothy smile. He returned to his drawing and sang with more gusto. Lena’s mouth lifted slightly at the corners as she glanced around the living room of the rented townhome.

  She shook her head and schooled her expression. She wasn’t Carter’s nanny. She couldn’t forget protecting him remained her sole priority, even though the last two months she’d been here had the action of her mom’s quilting circles—nothing but a bunch of gabbing and pointless work. Protecting the adorable child wasn’t pointless, but she had seen no indication that this assignment was anything more than the inflated imaginings of a man with too much money to throw around––until today.

  Marshall Rand didn’t need her here twenty-four seven, practically sleeping in the same room with Carter the way the bathroom connected her room and the boy’s. It wasn’t like someone could sneak into the secure mansion back in Kentucky that the Rands lived in. Heck, even the townhome he’d rented for his trip to DC had enough security that she wasn’t needed.

  She still didn�
�t understand why Mr. Rand had insisted that Carter, and therefore Lena, come with him to the capitol. He’d been wrapped up in so many meetings over the week that he hadn’t come home until well after Carter’s bedtime. She still could hear Mr. Rand’s low comment that Carter went where he did, when she’d asked why the family was being dragged to Virginia.

  Not that they were a family.

  Far from it.

  Though sometimes she wondered if what she experienced on the assignment was what most families’ lives were like. The father leaving for work early in the morning. The kids doting on their fathers, never understanding why the man they admired most ran off each day instead of staying to play. The mother left with an aching loneliness that warred with accusing anger when left day after day to raise the kids with the husband coming in as the hero late in the night.

  Lena shook her head. What a depressing thought and so unlike her own parents’ marriage that she couldn’t imagine being trapped in such a relationship. While it angered her when Mr. Rand came home too late to tuck Carter into bed, she had no say in how he ran his life. Which was fine by her.

  If she’d known who the assignment was with in the first place, she probably would’ve told Zeke to find someone else. In fact, when she’d found out she’d be working for Marshall Rand, the ex-congressman who had flipped his vote on the bill that ultimately killed her fiancé, Ethan, she’d been ready to tell Zeke he had a week to find someone else. How could she possibly work for a man that could so carelessly leave soldiers ill-equipped?

  How could she keep her disdain in when all she thought about was that spin in his moral compass that had been firmly pointing one way until the day of the vote?

  She knew all about the bill that supposedly created stronger borders, but only by making the troops in the field abroad weak with lack of support and proper equipment. She’d read the bill front to back, scoured the news and public documents associated with it, watched the debates, and researched all who had voted the bill through. The flip of Marshall Rand, and another congressman from Montana not showing up when the voting happened, had pushed the bill through. If Mr. Rand, uber-conservative representative and ex-Air Force member from Kentucky, would’ve just stuck to his guns, Ethan would still be alive. Lena would be married and probably have a child of her own sitting on her lap, scribbling indiscernible pictures while singing sweet songs.