His Soldier Under Siege

by Regan Black

  Suddenly, Grace Ann cried out in anguish, her calm, detached authority shattered. “It’s H.B.” She pressed her fingers to the man’s throat. “He’s alive,” she stated. “Barely.”

  “Isn’t he—”

  “Your belt,” she demanded, hand out. “Damn it. He walked right into it.”

  Derek hurried to comply. He would have sworn he was the man who’d bumped her just before the blast. “He’s from your unit, right?”

  “Yes. The commander’s assistant. Get someone over here now.”

  Protection detail or not, he wouldn’t leave her alone in this chaos. Looking around, he couldn’t tell friend from potential foe. There had been too many close calls for her already, including this one.

  This time his knees gave out and he dropped to the ground beside her. His original reservation had been for the window table at this restaurant. He waved and caught the attention of a police officer, who in turn scrambled to find a paramedic. Within minutes the man from her unit was being prepped for transport.

  Derek helped Grace Ann to her feet. “Let’s get you home.”

  Her eyes were red-rimmed from the smoke and debris, her face and hands smudged with dirt and soot and far worse. He couldn’t think about the “worse.” They both needed a shower and several hours to rest and recover.

  “This,” she muttered. “This is war.”

  “What did you say?”

  “People sometimes ask what it’s like.” He knew her eyes, glassy now, were seeing streets on the other side of the world. “This is pretty close.”

  And the terror had struck right here at home. Her sadness was a palpable force blanketing her, pressing him away. He fought it, chafing her arms to warm her up. “I’m taking you home,” he said, waiting for the words to click.

  “Hospital,” she countered. “I should be there for H.B.”

  Compromising was the heart of his career. “I’ll take you to the hospital after we clean up and change clothes at your place.” He cut off the expected protest. “Caregivers need care, too.”

  “Read that in a book?”

  “No,” he said. “Learned it firsthand.”

  “That was rude.” A tear rolled down her cheek, followed by another. “I’m sorry.” The dam broke in a rush and she dropped her head to his chest, letting it all pour out.

  “You saved people tonight, sweetheart. You kept families whole,” he said.

  Her shoulders shook as she fought her demons, past and present. He gave her the only thing he had left: himself. He turned her away from a nearby news crew and held on while she wept.

  * * *

  Although the device had gone off exactly as planned, he was furious. His inside man had planted the bomb in the wrong place. The explosion had created tremendous chaos, yet Grace Ann Riley had been neither maimed nor killed. Worse still, from every angle he saw on the news, she hadn’t suffered a public breakdown.

  He wanted more than tears. He wanted her in pieces, emotionally and physically.

  Turning off the television, he set the remote aside. The boyfriend was propping her up. Damn it. How had they missed that?

  Since returning to his compound, he’d tasked a new team with digging into Derek Sayer. The man seemingly had nothing better to do than get in the way. He had some intel from the bugs, but not enough to understand how to turn the man against her.

  He turned up the volume on the television, slightly mollified to hear her voice crack as she told a reporter how devastated she was by the explosion and the near death of another member of her precious unit.

  If the injuries didn’t kill his inside man by morning, a local hire would finish him off. The weasel had been too jittery the last time they spoke. The man had balked and argued about layering in more details on the case they’d fabricated against Grace Ann.

  He didn’t tolerate questions or incompetence from the peanut gallery.

  At the windows overlooking the canyon beyond his office, he took a moment to appreciate being home. Every move he made was well-hidden and protected. Should the investigators find him, they’d never get close enough to make an arrest until he was ready for that confrontation.

  In a contrary mood, he returned to his desk and worked through the sound files until he found a particular bit of the recording he thought the general would enjoy.

  Editing it for maximum impact, he sent the clip as an email attachment.

  An evil smile twisting his face, he wondered how difficult it would be to get devices planted in their fancy new beach house. It was a question he’d ask of the man he’d handpicked to infiltrate the small community and move on the general when the time came.

  Chapter 9

  Sitting next to Derek in the waiting room, Grace Ann slowly adjusted to the cold. Not the shivering sort of cold from the rainy spring night. This was the bone-deep cold of being too late, the icy, unforgiving bite of not having done enough. If H.B. died, his would be one more face haunting her nightmares.

  Two men from her unit now bore injuries that traced back to this vicious crusade against her dad. It was more stress and grief than a stateside unit should have to bear. She peered around the surgical waiting room, where nearly everyone from their unit waited for an update on H.B.

  She had no recollection of Derek taking them away from the scene. The drive was a complete blank in her mind. She vaguely recalled him undressing her and nudging her into the shower, washing her hair, scrubbing the stains from her hands. He’d applied ointment to their minor scrapes and scratches before he helped her into the clothes she wore now.

  He’d handled everything while her mind was stuck in a private hell where she reviewed each treatment and assessment in slow motion, weighing her split-second decisions with the benefit of time and hindsight. What had happened to the protective detail? Who else had been injured because they were too close to her? Had she saved anyone?

  “Hang in there,” Derek whispered. His arm was warm across her shoulders. “We’ll get through.”

  Because she wanted to let him take her far away, she pushed to her feet and paced to the windows on the other side of the room. On the rain-soaked street below, cars moved like glittering toys under a heavy black-velvet sky. Her memories cast a hazy filter over the peaceful scene below as she replayed the explosion time and again from the moment she’d been bumped to the moment the street corner had seemingly burst apart.

  It had been a bomb, she was sure. Not just a flashback, though she understood her experiences overseas exacerbated this post-event disconnect in her mind and heart. The pressure, the sound, the flash of light and the resulting injuries were consistent with a precisely measured detonation.

  How had such a thing even happened here, practically in the shadow of Walter Reed, where so many people committed themselves to saving men and women injured in the line of duty?

  Where had H.B. been rushing to when he’d bumped her? Being in such a hurry had put him almost on top of the explosion. Maybe if she’d called out and exchanged a friendly word they wouldn’t be here, waiting and praying for him to pull through.

  “How are you holding up, Major Riley?”

  Grace Ann looked away from the street to greet Bingham. Despite the PT uniform and running shoes, the commander’s authority was on full display.

  “I’m fine, ma’am, thank you.” She stood here on her own, breathing unassisted, with only minor scrapes and a few more bruises to add to the current count. The guilt grew with every minute, clawing at her from the inside.

  “The doctor who looked you over when you came in told me the same thing. I’m hearing one account after another about your heroism out there,” Bingham said.

  The suspension flashed to the front of Grace Ann’s mind. Her actions shouldn’t pose a legal problem, since she’d administered life-saving measures during a crisis. She’d have to go through a battery of tests to make su
re she didn’t contract any diseases, since gloves hadn’t been available. “I only did what I could,” she said. “Is it a problem for you if I’m here?”

  “Absolutely not. You’re part of our team.”

  The words were a balm over the harsh sting of guilt. “Thank you.”

  “I’d feel better if you let one of the doctors examine you.” She aimed a pointed look at Grace Ann’s hands.

  Expecting to see an open wound, Grace Ann discovered her hands were locked in a white-knuckled grasp. With an effort, she parted them and tucked them into the pockets of her jacket. “It’s a habit when I worry.”

  “Perfectly natural when good friends are involved.”

  Grace Ann didn’t consider H.B. much of a friend, but as part of the unit, he was family. “I saw him just before all hell broke loose,” she said. “He was running straight into danger. We just didn’t know it.”

  Bingham’s eyes were brimming with compassion. “Bad things happen every day. All we can do is respond with our best effort. You surely showed your best out there tonight. Go home now and sleep it off.”

  “Is that an order?”

  “If it needs to be,” Bingham replied. “I’ll make sure you get every update.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Turning, she crossed the room. “I’m being sent home,” she said to Derek.

  “Are you okay with that?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t trust herself to say more without breaking into a tantrum or dissolving into tears.

  “Then we’ll go.” He took her hand as they walked out. “Have you ever wanted to be a personal assistant?” he asked as they waited for the elevator to arrive.

  She frowned, trying to put the question into context. “Not really, why?”

  “Me neither.” He handed her his phone. “Apparently Hank gave my number to everyone in your family.” They stepped into the elevator. “They’ve been grilling me about the incident.”

  She stared up at the ceiling and counted to ten, then twenty before looking at his phone. “Nosiness is one of the lesser-known side effects of being a Riley,” she said, skimming through the surplus of text messages and missed phone calls. It seemed every second or third one had a link to a news outlet reporting the incident. “Good grief, why didn’t they just call me?”

  “I’ve checked a couple of those links,” he said. “The reporters make it sound like you’re the one in surgery.”

  She choked on a bitter laugh. “No surprise it made national news.” She sighed as they walked out of the hospital toward the parking area. “I’ll start responding as soon as we’re home.”

  “Start now if you want.”

  The idea made her stomach twist. It would be easy to hit Reply and reassure her siblings via text messages. “Hank knows I’m fine, and he should be passing that along.”

  “They want to hear your voice,” Derek said. “I’m guessing,” he added when she glared at him. “At your place you run the risk of being overheard.”

  With everything else on her mind, she’d forgotten her house was bugged. “Thanks for the reminder.” She sent a text message to Matt, promising to call tomorrow. Copying the message, she pasted it into replies to each of her younger siblings, her parents, and a few aunts, uncles and cousins.

  “That should hold them until morning.” At his car, she paused when he opened the passenger door for her. “You’ve been wonderful. Thank you.” She brushed her lips across his.

  He angled his mouth and the heady contact burned through the deep, aching cold. “You did all the tough stuff,” he murmured, his lips teasing the sensitive shell of her ear.

  “Derek?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Take me anywhere but home.” What she wanted to do with Derek, she didn’t want anyone overhearing.

  “You’re sure?”

  “If you mention one word about anything other than how much you want me, I will not be responsible for my actions.”

  His sandy eyebrows arched, then settled back as he considered her. “One condition.”

  She waited.

  “Wherever we go, once you fall asleep, you’ll let yourself sleep until you wake up on your own. No alarms. No phones.”

  “Deal.” She hadn’t slept more than a few hours straight in months. At home, when she woke up from a nightmare, she’d read a book or magazine until she fell back to sleep. Tonight, she’d have Derek to distract her.

  She felt better already.

  * * *

  Derek woke for the second time as the sun slanted through the curtains of the floor-to-ceiling hotel windows. While Grace Ann continued to sleep, he handled a few details from the office through the limited capabilities of his phone. His assistant claimed calls had been coming in all night with interview requests from various news networks.

  Though he’d been tempted to make a run to her house for his laptop or an overnight bag, he refused to take a chance that she’d either wake up alone and disoriented or have another nightmare while he was out.

  They’d worn each other out, burning off the residual adrenaline from the crisis as well as affirming their survival. He’d never met a woman who shared passion, wild and tender, so openly. She’d been glorious, demanding and oh so generous as they’d loved each other into a beautiful exhaustion.

  Having her curl into him and sleep with such trust had been an incredible gift he treasured. A gift that confirmed he was on the right track with his plan to move their casual relationship into something strong and permanent.

  As much as he’d hated her having to perform for those listening devices in her home, the conversation had given him valuable insight and fair warning. When the nightmare gripped her and the thrashing startled him awake, he’d taken a few hard kicks and dodged a wide-flung arm. When he’d turned on the light, the tears on her cheeks gutted him. He hadn’t seen anything so heartbreaking since Kevin had cried in his sleep as a kid, grieving their parents.

  Unable to rouse her, he’d pulled the sheets free of her legs and tucked her close to his side. Soothing her with soft words and gentle, repetitive strokes down her spine, he’d kept watch until her body finally relaxed.

  Losing sleep didn’t bother him. He was glad to do something truly helpful for this independent and capable woman. He suspected Grace Ann had lost more than her share of sleep to the stresses of her last deployment and the recent events.

  The bruising on her hip had turned into a mosaic of purples, blues and greens, and more colorful marks would soon stain her hands along with the scrapes she’d picked up while treating victims. At least the finger-shaped stains on her neck were fading.

  Yes, he understood she’d been targeted as some vengeful effort against her dad but last night had really driven home the point that the world wasn’t as stable and drama-free as he imagined. Danger and jeopardy were simply a matter of degrees. Having a brother in the military meant he’d kept track of trouble in the areas where he thought Kevin would be assigned. It was so easy to be complacent, to take stateside risks and first responders for granted.

  His stomach woke him around nine. This time, he slipped out of bed and showered, then ordered a hearty breakfast for two while he dressed. Grace Ann slept on. The food arrived and he downed a little more than half of everything on the tray, letting her sleep. Noon came and went as she continued to sleep, sprawled across the king-size bed.

  With nothing but time, he called his brother to check in.

  “About time. Are you okay?” Kevin demanded. “You and Grace Ann are all over the news.”

  “I’m fine. It was a long night.” His gaze cruised over Grace Ann and he wished he’d just climbed back into bed with her.

  “Looks like,” Kevin agreed, the urgency in his voice subsiding. “They’re making it sound like the two of you saved the entire city.”

  “She did all the tough stuff,” he said.

>   “That’s Major Riley.” Kevin snorted. “I’m glad you got out of there when you did.”

  Immediately on edge, Derek turned on the television. “What do you mean?” He muted the sound as he surfed through the channels. Sure enough, last night’s tragedy was playing on all the major news networks, along with a ticker giving updates. It seemed no one had claimed responsibility.

  “The way she was using your clothing, you would’ve been naked in another few minutes.”

  “Right.” Leave it to Kevin to get snarky.

  The longer Derek watched, the more he wondered who’d caught so many close-ups and details of Grace Ann working triage. No wonder her family had been hounding him for more information. He’d shared the hotel details with Hank last night. Hank, in turn, had verified the surveillance team was still on the house and no further trouble had been noted in the neighborhood.

  “How is she coping?” Kevin asked.

  “She’s sleeping it off,” Derek replied. “She told me it looked like war.”

  “It does.” Kevin’s voice was as somber as Derek had ever heard it.

  He stepped out onto the balcony so his conversation wouldn’t wake Grace Ann. “You never talk about what you’ve seen.”

  “Not with you,” Kevin said.

  A pang of regret struck Derek’s heart. “I suppose I deserve that.”

  “Not if you’re taking it as an insult,” Kevin said. “I know you didn’t want me going into the army, but if I hadn’t you never would’ve done anything for yourself.”

  “Bull.”

  Kevin scoffed. “Deny it if that gets you through the night. That sibling connection goes two ways. I know how you think.”

  Derek bristled, not in the mood to argue. “Let’s say you’re right, little brother.” He added emphasis for the annoyance factor. “It isn’t easy for me to sit at home and wait for a chaplain to show up when you’re all gung ho about working in a war zone.”

  “You haven’t opened the door to a chaplain yet.”