He eyed the bed, his body responding as he pictured Eden sleeping there. The cherry headboard matched the bureau and mirror. He realized his dresser, which was now in the study and presumably held some of his clothing, completed the suite. An empty space against the wall told him where it used to be.
Surely there were traces of him in this room. But as he scanned the bookshelves and surfaces, he realized, apart from a collection of Tom Clancy novels, there was no evidence a man had ever lived here. He couldn’t identify a single object he recognized as his own.
He probed deeper, driven by some nameless desperation. Surely Eden hadn’t obliterated all of him after she’d thought him dead. If she had, that didn’t bode well for a future with her.
He entered the walk-in closet and noticed a pull-down ladder that presumably gave access to storage in the attic. On a rack below the pull-down ladder, he found some clothing—a couple of dress shirts and slacks painstakingly wrapped in plastic, with two pairs of oxfords lined up on the shelf below them.
Are these mine? The clothing struck him as vaguely familiar. Yes, now he remembered. He’d had himself fitted at a men’s clothier in Coronado after graduating from BUDs. He’d liked dressing up in his off hours. It had made him feel important.
Jonah reached under the plastic and rubbed the sleeve of one of the shirts. The quality of the fabric failed to impress him.
He turned away, dismayed to find so little of himself. Where were all his uniforms—his service dress whites and blues, his dinner dress, his work dress, and his collection of jungle and desert-camouflaged NWUs? Had she given them to a teammate? Maybe he could get them back.
As he stepped from the closet, his gaze went through the open bathroom door to the jetted tub set under a clouded glass window. The size of the tub impressed him. What riveted his attention, however, was the framed photo propped at one end, surrounded by several glass tumblers.
That’s me! He approached the tub and studied the set up. The tumblers were for candles, all of them melted to mere nubs. Had Eden erected an altar of some kind, here in the bathroom?
He picked up the picture. While obviously him, the man in the photo seemed like a stranger. Dressed in woodland patterned NWU’s and hefting an MP 5 submachine gun, he emanated supreme self-confidence. Between the hard glint in his eyes and the smirk on his face, he looked like a man too revved up to slow down, too self-absorbed to be thinking of his family.
Jonah’s gaze swung to the mirror. As thin as he was now, the resemblance was scant. Stepping closer, he contrasted the other differences.
There were new marks on his face: the scar on his mouth from getting his lip split open and another under his left eyebrow. He had dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks were gaunt. Imitating the smirk of the warrior in the photo, the gap in his teeth reminded him he’d endured something life-threatening and violent.
Only the eyes were the same.
Leaning toward to the mirror, he stared into the gold-green eyes with 10/20 vision that had given him his code name.
A voice sounded in his head—Eden’s voice, he realized.
For someone with such good vision, why can’t you see what’s in front of you?
He straightened from the mirror with a gasp, his heart beating fast. That was a memory!
Dr. Schmidt had been right. Being in a familiar environment was bringing things back—first her scent, now this.
But the disillusionment in Eden’s tone kept him from rejoicing. What didn’t I see? What had she been talking about?
He dared to think back. Was it Miriam? His gut said, yes. They’d been discussion Miriam, who’d done something wrong, something for attention, maybe.
Thinking of Miriam reminded Jonah she was still outside alone. Pricked by guilt, he returned the photo to the exact spot where he’d found it and moved as quickly as he could out of Eden’s bedroom toward the front door.
Finding it unlocked, a second wave of vulnerability washed over him. He stepped outside onto the deck and shut the door. A warm ocean breeze ruffled his hair. Sunlight bounced into his eyes as he rounded the deck slowly, raking the immediate area for signs of Miriam and the dog.
Feeling terribly exposed, he sought the source of his uneasiness, even as he craved the reassuring feel of a weapon in his hand. A car moved along the street below, passing without slowing. Not a single person showed himself within a hundred yards.
There’s no threat, he assured himself.
Hunting for Miriam, Jonah continued around the deck until he could see past the house next to them all the way to the beach, about a football field away. A clearly delineated footpath followed the line of the chain-link fence that hemmed in Dam Neck Naval Base. On that footpath, he was relieved to see Miriam being pulled in his direction, sled-dog style, by her golden retriever.
The relief he felt sapped the remaining strength out of him, and he dropped onto one of the many colorful Adirondack chairs scattered about. With his back pressed to the yellow chair, he tried to remember his thirty-fourth birthday Miriam had told him about—the one Eden had thrown for him. He thought he could picture his teammates standing around the grill holding red plastic cups and laughing.
The vision reassured him. I do belong here. If only he got that feeling from his wife, who had nearly expunged him from her life.
What was I doing married, anyway? He shook his head in disbelief. He knew the kind of man he was; the kind of ruthless drive he had to excel. He even knew why he’d pushed himself the way he had—to make up for his misspent youth. Given his family history, his father’s tragic death, the abuse at the hands of his stepbrother, Jonah had known he’d make a lousy husband and an even lousier father.
Then he’d met Eden, who was obviously too beautiful to let slip through his fingers. He really couldn’t blame his younger self for compromising his oath to stay single. On the other hand, SEALs suffered a 90 percent divorce rate. Had he seriously thought he could hold onto her?
Yet their story wasn’t over, was it? He could make amends for being absent this past year and for some other mistakes he’d made before that. He liked what they had here, a lovely home, a little family. He’d never thought himself worthy of either but now that he’d seen what he could have, he didn’t want to give it up.
Hearing Miriam chase the dog around the front of the house, he tried to get out of the chair but found himself too weak to move. The two of them thundered up the stairs and descended on him. The dog all but jumped into his lap, licking effusively until Miriam tugged her off.
“You’re supposed to be sleeping!” she scolded, bringing Sabrina under control.
“I tried,” he said.
“I told Mom you wouldn’t like that mattress,” she commented. The wind pushed her dyed hair into her eyes. As she caught it back, Jonah noticed four holes punctured into the delicate shell of her ear, devoid of studs.
“The mattress is fine,” he assured her. “Do you always walk the dog that long?”
Her eyebrows pulled together. “What do you mean?”
Jonah tried again. “I mean, that’s a good walk and all, but is it safe out there?”
Her mauve colored head tipped to one side as she frowned down at him.
“Safe from what?” she asked carefully.
Jonah had a feeling he wasn’t making sense. Exhaustion tugged at him.
“Never mind.” He tried and failed to get out of the chair.
“Stay there,” Miriam said. “Mom made us sandwiches. I’ll bring one out to you.”
In a flash she was gone, presumably to stow the dog in the house, then fetch him something to eat.
Jonah made himself more comfortable. Sitting out of sight of the street, he felt safer. The wind ruffling his hair and the ocean roaring in the distance combined to soothe his anxiety.
Minutes later, Miriam appeared bearing a tray with two full glasses and two sandwiches on paper plates. She set the tray down on a nearby table before handing a plate to Jonah, who only then reali
zed he was hungry.
“Water or lemonade?” she asked, holding up the two glasses.
Thinking she likely wanted the lemonade for herself, he said, “Water.”
With a quick grin of gratitude, she handed him the water and lowered herself into the chair next to him.
Jonah eyed the contents of his sandwich. “My favorite,” he declared, noting the thin layers of deli-cut turkey and a slab of what looked like provolone.
“I thought pastrami was your favorite,” Miriam retorted, taking a huge bite from her own.
Jonah shrugged. “All food is good.” That morning at the hospital, he’d had oatmeal for the first time in he didn’t know how long, and it had tasted like heaven.
They ate in companionable silence for a minute. Then Miriam asked on a breezy note, “So what did Mom say to you?”
“What do you mean?”
Miriam flicked him a glance but didn’t elaborate. “You want some advice?” she asked instead.
The question caught Jonah off guard. Not only did Miriam strike him as a potential ally, but she also seemed to know what the issue was between him and Eden.
“Sure.” He drew out the word, not knowing what he was going to hear.
“Well…” She licked a bit of mustard off her middle finger. “I would take things slow, if I were you. You’ve been through a lot—obviously,” she added, slanting him a look brimming with teenage wisdom. “And so has mom. She just needs time.”
Really? Recalling Eden’s wary reception, he had reason to doubt their relationship would get on track that easily. Given various comments she and Miriam had made and glances they’d exchanged, he had reason to believe he’d been a lousy husband, probably a terrible stepfather. To think he’d actually forbidden Eden to work! Had he been that much of a control freak?
Yet if Miriam was willing to give Jonah a second chance, maybe Eden would, too.
“All right,” he said, smothering a burp. The sandwich was more food than he’d eaten in days, probably even months. It filled his stomach and weighted his eyelids.
“I think I should try napping again.” Pushing to the edge of his seat, he was determined to stand and not to wobble.
Miriam took the paper plate out of his hand. She watched but didn’t help, which he greatly appreciated. If he couldn’t even get off a deck chair, then what good was he?
Powered by determination and chagrin over needing a nap in the first place, Jonah managed to stand under his own steam.
“What are you going to do?” he asked as Miriam set his glass back on the tray.
Straightening with the tray, she made a face of disgust. “I have a book to read—summer reading for school.”
Her answer perked his interest briefly, but speech was suddenly beyond him. Nodding his approval, he tottered toward the front door, so exhausted he wondered whether he would make it.
Miriam hurried past him and silently held it open.
“Thanks,” he managed, moving down the hall back to the study.
Seconds later, he shut himself inside, kicked off his shoes, and fell face first across the narrow mattress, crashing into a deep sleep that kept him motionless for hours.
Eden awoke to the sound of her doorknob turning. Her pulse spiked. Her eyes flew open to a room that was stygian-black, and no wonder. It was 2:12 in the morning, according to the digital clock by her bed. Fear streaked to her extremities, bringing her wide awake—not that she’d been sleeping very deeply. How could she with Jonah in the house?
Intuition told her the intruder wasn’t Miriam. Sure enough, a silhouette peered through her opening door. She knew by his height and the breadth of his shoulders it was Jonah.
An unexpected, visceral desire shot through her, and she immediately squelched it, demanding, “What do you want?”
He froze at her tone, which she recognized was about as welcoming as the thorns on the cactus she’d set on her kitchen window sill.
In the dark, she could make out his eyes reflecting the glow of her digital clock.
“When did you get home?” he asked, sounding hesitant, relieved.
She pushed herself into a sitting position. “What do you mean? I’ve been home since six o’clock.”
“Six?” he repeated. She could hear dismay in his voice.
“You were sleeping so soundly I didn’t wake you up for dinner. Are you hungry now?”
She snapped on the light to get a better look at him.
Jonah jerked, overreacting to the sudden brightness. Lowering the hand he’d brought up instinctively, he sent her a sheepish grimace, then blinked at her with interest.
Too late, Eden realized she was wearing a sleeveless cotton nightdress that left little to the imagination. She pulled the sheet up over her chest.
“Are you hungry?” she repeated.
Dragging his gaze to hers, he visibly swallowed and said, “I can find something to eat. I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he added, venturing in a little farther. “I just…I didn’t hear you come in. I woke up and the house was so quiet.” He peered around her bed. “Where’s the dog? I don’t see her.”
“She sleeps in Miriam’s room at night.”
“Oh.”
She realized as he quelled a shudder that he was shaken—like seriously spooked by something. He’d been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress, a condition that would go away in time. But if it didn’t, his diagnosis could change to PTSD, a debilitating and long-lasting disorder that would likely prevent him from ever returning to the Teams. God forbid Jonah ended up with PTSD.
Determined to chase away his demons, Eden tossed back her sheets and jumped out of bed.
“I think I need a snack myself,” she declared, scooping up the robe she’d dropped on the floor and slipping it on, all the while conscious of Jonah’s stare.
He stepped back as she sailed past him, headed for the kitchen. With his slow, determined walk, he trailed behind.
“I grabbed some Chinese on the way home,” she chatted as she opened the refrigerator. “I’m not sure if you remember, but I’m a lousy cook.” She kept her tone conversational, hoping to calm his jitters and put him at ease.
Jonah stood by the breakfast bar, watching her every move through eyes that missed nothing. Even with the robe on, Eden felt distinctly underdressed. But then he’d always had that effect on her, his stare so appreciative that her skin prickled. She needed to ignore their chemistry. Giving into it would only confuse her more.
“Do you like Kung Pao chicken?” She knew for a fact he did.
“I like all food,” he declared with conviction.
She shot him an encouraged look. “Good, because you’ll have to eat a lot of it to gain back the weight you’ve lost.”
Ladling the leftovers onto two plates, she warmed up the first one and poured Jonah a glass of milk.
“Eat,” she invited placing his plate before him and turning away to heat up her own.
Even with her back turned to him, she could feel his gaze drifting over her robe-clad figure. She bit her lip against the desire that tugged at her.
“Tell me about your job,” he requested as he forked up a bite.
She stiffened automatically. Was he going to tell her to quit? Regarding him over her shoulder, she gauged his reaction as she said, “I teach fitness classes at the base gym—cardio, CORE, yoga, and body sculpting.”
His gaze betrayed interest and appreciation as it slid down and up her body. Her muscles clenched as if he’d touched her.
“Keeps you in great shape,” he noted.
“And hungry,” she commented, keeping their conversation light as she took her plate from the microwave.
Occupying the stool next to him, she joined him in eating. Neither one of them spoke. A strangely companionable silence filled the kitchen. Eden sensed Jonah was calmer now, less agitated. She thought about the fear that had to haunt him any time he closed his eyes. That he was finally affected by the violence he witnessed in his line of work made him s
eem more human, more worthy of compassion.
“You know,” she heard herself say. His head turned and she could tell from her peripheral vision she had his full attention. “Sometimes, when I’m…when I can’t sleep—” She didn’t dare to imply that he was feeling fearful. “—I read the Psalms. You know, from the Bible,” she added, looking over at him to gauge his response.
Jonah had professed to being a Christian when she’d married him, but as far as she could tell, he never talked to God. She paused, waiting to see if he welcomed her words or not.
He nodded, seeming to accept her suggestion. “Book of Psalms, yeah.” His thoughts turned inward. Suddenly, he started to recite a psalm, one she recognized but couldn’t identify by number.
“‘God is our refuge and strength,’” he murmured, apparently by rote, “‘a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult.’”
Eden knew there was more to come about nations in an uproar and the world melting, but only one verse popped into her, so she said it out loud. “‘God will help when the morning dawns.’”
He looked at her, then, his eyes widening with delight. “Yes, that’s part of it. You know that Psalm?”
“Do I know that Psalm?” She just looked at him. “How do you know that Psalm?”
His forehead furrowed as he tried to remember, but then he winced and shook his head.
“I don’t know. It was just there.”
Amazed, Eden came to an interesting conclusion. “You’ve been reading the Bible.”
He searched her gaze with continued perplexity. “In captivity?”
She shrugged. “I guess. You never used to cite scripture.” She got a sudden idea. “Wait here. I’ve got a Bible by my bed.”
Hurrying to her room, she snatched it off the bedside table and brought it to him, all the while hoping her idea worked.
Returning to Eden (Acts of Valor, Book 1): Christian Military Romantic Suspense Page 6
