“No way I’m staying here.” Devon wrapped her brown hair into a quick ponytail. “This neighborhood gives me the heebie jeebies. We’re going to stick out like flamingos in Alaska.”
“Flamingos in Alaska?” She fumbled inside her messenger bag for a stone she always touched for luck. The white stone fit into the palm of her hand. Smooth. Flat. She rubbed her fingers over it before slipping it back inside the zippered pouch. Flashing Devon a smile, she opened the door. “I love flamingos, all pink and balancing on one leg. I need a vacation. Key West would be fun, wouldn’t it? Are flamingos wild down there or only in the state parks? Or zoos? They’re not cooped up in zoos, are they?”
“Focus, Hope.”
“Don’t worry. I’m focused. You’re the one who brought up flamingos. Can they fly? I need to Google that later.” She tapped her fingers on her messenger bag while her gaze scanned the block.
Every building had bars on the windows. The sidewalk played out like an amusement park fun ride, all ridges and crevices. One house in particular kept her attention: its stone façade reminded her of an old whore, used up and neglected. The note that had arrived at her office a few weeks ago claimed a human smuggling operation was trafficking through Denver, all going through this neighborhood. The leads she’d followed since had turned up some interesting twists and created some threats. She grinned. Where there were threats, there was a story.
“I have a feeling this is going to be a big one, Dev.” She exited the car and strode toward a corner store. “Just hopefully not too big, if you know what I mean. I’ve had enough of dangerous situations to last me a lifetime.”
“Yet here we are skulking around one of the worst neighborhoods in town,” Devon complained, keeping pace. “I never knew Denver’s seedy underworld until you arrived. You bring out the worst in people.”
“High compliment, Dev.” She grinned at her friend, feeling the zap of adrenaline pulse through her veins at the prospect of breaking open a conspiracy. “We’ll get a feel for the place before we decide where to begin, I’m thinking we can do a few feature stories about the neighborhood—”
“No one’s going to believe that you’re doing feature stories—”
“That way we can build up some trust while we do the real digging.” Her grin turned into a toothy smile when she noticed Devon’s frown. “Where’s the faith, Dev? I can blend. I can be charming.”
Devon snorted her answer.
“Let’s have lunch,” she said, spotting a diner. “Mingle. You know, we could find some great stories here. People trying to better their community, stuff like that. I bet we can find some real gems while we sniff out the bad guys.”
“Sniff out the bad guys? Right. Got it. But do we have to eat? I just had breakfast,” Devon protested.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” She stopped, mind jumping with ideas. “We’ll do a feature on the diner to begin with, make nice with the locals, smile a lot. People like being on television. They’ll be flattered. The more we hang around, the easier it will be for us to find out what’s really happening.”
“And you think Marion will go for the feature series?”
“Of course he will. He’s thrilled to have me as part of the 9 News team, remember? He loves me.” She laughed at the doubt twisting Devon’s face. “And I’m adorable...charming...the list is long.”
“Gee, I forgot.” Devon rolled her eyes.
“Maybe our source will surface.” Energy pumped through her veins like an out of control freight train. “We’re being noticed. People like to talk. This is a good thing. Excellent.”
“You never should have left network. Denver will bore you. Did you know there’s a bet at the station about how long you’ll stick around? You’re a danger junkie, meant to cover wars and other major catastrophes around the world.” Devon motioned to their surroundings. “You had the glamorous job, the prestige of being a network war correspondent. I don’t know how you could have left it all for this.”
Her smile faltered at the memory of being caught in the crossfire between insurgents and the US military, the memory of her best friend Peter’s head exploding in front of her, the memory of crawling into an overturned jeep with corpses at her feet and picking bits of Peter’s skull from her hair, the memory of dragging a wounded Marine to safety while hell erupted around them. Not so glamorous.
Now was not the time for memories. Focus, focus, busy, busy.
Inside the diner wasn’t much more appealing than the outside. Tile had been bleached more than once and the damage was irreparable. Orange booths lined the walls; some ripped, some not, a cliché of mundane.
“You were the It Girl, the reporter destined to be a network anchor one day or to at least have your own show like Anderson Cooper. You were so close to having it all, the golden ring that every journalism student dreams of and you walked away. Don’t you ever miss it?”
“Let’s see what’s on the menu, Dev. I need to eat,” she said.
She feigned interest in the choices while her peripheral vision took in the room. She had been in worse places than this, eaten worse food. Hands shook on the menu as she remembered sharing a protein bar with Michael as they hid in a bombed out shell of a home. She’d stitched up the gash in his head with the thread in her bag, the same bag she carried now. He’d given her that stone then, told her that they would be leaving and taking that with them as proof of survival. And she had prayed that he wouldn’t die…she had prayed and prayed and prayed.
“Hey, Hope, what’s clicking away in your brain now? You look far too serious. What were you thinking about?”
She shook the images from her mind, folded the menu and struggled to regain focus. Sighing, she rubbed the center of her chest with a closed fist. “An old friend and a shared dinner, if you could call it that.”
“The war? How come you never talk about it?”
“I was a war correspondent, Dev, I talked about it every day.” She exhaled a long breath. “Think I’ll have the veggie skillet.”
“This idea of yours is going to mean a lot of work. Feature stories, investigative reporting, research…lots of work.” Despite her words, Devon’s face flushed with shared excitement. “So when do we start oozing charm and good will?”
“Now,” she answered through a smile as she looked up to greet the waitress.
Hours later, and one feature story on the diner done and canned, she rested her elbows on her desk and closed her eyes. The newsroom buzzed around her with tip tapping on computer keyboards, ringing of phones and loud conversation. She preferred noise to silence. Couldn’t handle silence.
“Hope, there’s a Marine in the lobby asking for you.” Devon tapped her on the shoulder. “At least I think he’s a Marine--looks like one, but dressed like a civilian.”
Marine. Her heart stopped at the word. It couldn’t be him.
“That’s the second time today you’ve disappeared on me.” Devon propped her hip against the desk. “What’s going on with you? C’mon. You’re off.”
She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand and ripped her gaze from the doors. “What’s his name? Is he in a wheelchair? Who did he ask for? Hope Shane or…Cedars?”
“Cedars? I said he was here asking for you.” Devon glanced over her shoulder before leaning close to her. “Do you have another name I should know about? An alias or something?”
“Can you get rid of him for me?” She reached into her desk for a piece of gum. Panic clenched at her throat. Her fingers struggled with the wrapper.
“Are you scared of the Marine?” Devon squinted at her, a smile pulling at the edges of her mouth. “Did you break a heart or two over there? Think it’s some long lost lover stalking you now that he’s back in the States?”
“My life is not nearly as exciting as you think it is. I’m not scared of any Marine.”
Her gaze darted toward the newsroom doors. “How tall is he? Is he wounded? Is he walking? Does he have a scar?”
“Geez, I don’t know. I didn’t think I needed to sketch the guy. Go find out.”
“Right. Find out.” Gum snapped between her teeth. Heartbeat raced as if she’d finished running a marathon.
“I’ll tell him that you’ve left for the day.” Devon’s face softened with pity. “I’ve never seen you look like this, absolutely terrified. I didn’t mean to joke about it. I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry.”
“No, I’ll go. I can handle this.” She stood on wobbly legs. Nerves skittered beneath her skin as she walked from the newsroom to the lobby.
The only Marine she cared to see had banned her from the hospital in Frankfurt, Germany. From Germany to Walter-Reed, she’d tried to see him, had been denied access, and had been humiliated more times than she could count.
Her heart sank like a deflated balloon at the sight of Captain Scott McGee, US Marine, standing in the lobby looking at her framed picture on the wall. The last time she’d seen him, he had tossed her over his shoulder and escorted her from the hospital in Germany. She had pelted his back with her fists, had screamed down the hallway for Michael to admit who she was to him…but had been shut out. Denied. Restrained.
Unwanted memories assaulted her. Michael falling face first into the dirt. Her running back for him. McGee tackling her. Michael’s lifeless body. McGee shouting at her. Machine gun fire. The taste of sand and blood in her mouth. Explosions. Helicopters. And the screaming…she could never block out the sound of her own screams.
“Captain,” she said with more force than necessary.
He turned, his massive frame blocking out the sun from the window behind him, face hidden in sudden shadow, gray T-shirt with the words US Marine Corps stretching across his massive chest. And she wanted to hit him. Hard. Fist to the jaw and then a kick to the crotch. That would make her point. Damn Captain Scott McGee.
Their gaze connected, neither willing to break the stare first.
“What do you want?” She rubbed sweaty palms over her hips to keep from lashing out, rolled the gum in her mouth and straightened her spine. “I should have security toss you out on your ass, McGee.”
“Payback is a bitch, ma’am, wouldn’t blame you if you did.” He kept his gaze steady on hers.
“Of course you wouldn’t. You’re much more noble than I am. I hold a grudge.” Be brave. Stand tall. Walk forward. “Is this an official visit, Captain? I can’t imagine you want to grab a beer or talk about old times. What brings you to Denver? All you used to talk about was going back home to San Diego. What are you doing here?”
“Call me Scott...or McGee...I was discharged a few months ago now.”
“What do you want?”
He shook his head, first to break the stare by glancing again at the framed picture of her in the lobby. “I heard that you won an Emmy for your series on Marishka,” McGee said after a long silence. His dark eyes drifted back to her face. “Congratulations. You earned it. So did Peter.”
“Tell me why you’re here.” She cleared her throat when her voice faltered. Breathless, she tried again. “This is about Michael, right? Is he dead? Just tell me and be done with it.”
“Hope, I need you to calm down.”
“Calm down? I am calm.” She shrugged deeply, hands outstretched. “This is me being calm. Stop being such a damn Marine and spit it out.”
“I am a damn Marine, ma’am.” He leaned his back against the wall. “How would you have me be?”
“Straight forward, how about that?” She wanted to vomit. “Is he dead? Is that why you’re here?”
From the solemn expression on his face, she knew the news was bad. Michael must have died. Why else would McGee be in Denver and standing in this lobby? There must have been too many surgeries, too many complications, too much damage, and too many ghosts. Michael. Her worst fear realized, she braced herself against the wall and stared at her feet
“Hope…” he began, eyes watching her closely, “you need to know that I’m really sorry for what happened in Germany, Shane. I’m really sorry for everything. He’s not dead. He’s in Denver, at the New Horizons Institute.” McGee’s hand was on her shoulder, supporting her. “I’m sorry if you thought—”
“The New Horizons Institute?” She blinked at the man, certain she had misheard him. “In Denver? When?”
McGee’s smile softened his face, making him look less like a hunk of marble. “You didn’t used to repeat things, Shane.”
“Well, you’re not exactly getting to the point are you?” She punched him in the shoulder. “When did he get here? Is he okay? Did he tell you to find me?”
“No, I’m pretty sure he would be mad as hell if he knew I tracked you down.”
“I gave his family the information on New Horizons, pulled some strings to move him to the top of the waiting list, but then I backed off. Walter Reed said it would be months before he was released. How did this happen? His family arranged on him coming here? Do they know about…about me? About Greece?” She stepped closer to him and lowered her voice. “About the marriage?”
“I believe only six people on the face of this earth know about Greece,” McGee said with a smile, “despite your efforts to make sure the entire world knew. I kept waiting for you to blurt it out on one of your live newscasts.”
“No one believed me.”
“Of course not.” His smile faded. “I had to respect his wishes. He was my commanding officer, my best friend.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she studied McGee’s face through a squint. “My sister Becky works there. She hasn’t said anything.”
“She’s his physical therapist. She told me where to find you, thought you’d come if I came to see you myself.”
Feeling like a fool, she shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and squinted at the floor. All those unanswered letters…silly random comments and observations written on anything she could find and tossed into the mail…hoping for a response that never came. She embodied the word fool when it came to Colonel Michael Cedars.
“It’s about time he stops hiding from me, don’t you think?” She met McGee’s gaze.
“He’s not the same man you remember.” His eyes held a warning, but she already knew Michael had given up months ago. “He’s not the same man I knew either.”
“I’m not the same woman, either.”
“He won’t want your pity.”
“I don’t pity him. I’m spitting mad.” No, she did not pity the man. She wanted to tell him off, maybe slap some sense into him and then kiss him until he came back to life.
“Stay out of trouble, Shane.” McGee winked. “Give the Colonel some hell, I think he needs it.”
“I’ve been looking forward to giving the Colonel some hell, Captain.” With a mock salute, she turned her back on him and walked toward the newsroom. Oh, yes, she had definitely been looking forward to giving the Colonel some hell.
Chapter Two
Michael Cedars. She thought of him that last morning together in the hotel. His long, lean body had glistened with the moisture of their shared shower. Her hands had caressed the sculpted muscles of his shoulders—she had always loved touching his broad chest—and kissed his neck as she said good-bye.
“Don’t leave the city,” he had cautioned against her ear.
“I won’t,” she lied before nipping his chin. “I’ll be waiting for you tonight. I have something to tell you. Good news.”
“Tell me now.” He tugged her hair and rained kisses along her face. “I don’t want to wait.”
“No, it’s special.” God, she loved this man. She linked her hands behind his neck, loving how small she felt in the circle of his arms, and looked up at him. “It can wait until tonight.”
“I love you, babe.” He held her face between his hands. “I am madly, desperately in love with my wife. Promise you’ll stay safe.”
“I promise. I love you.”
She stared at the entrance of the New Horizons Institute and rubbed the silent tears fr
om her face. She hadn’t stayed safe. She had lied about leaving the city.
That lie had landed her in the midst of an ambush and nearly ended both of their lives.
She smacked the steering wheel with open palms and dug down deep for the strength she knew she needed for this confrontation.
Lost in her own thoughts, she walked through the doors of the institute. Five months of pleading with him to see her, keeping their marriage a secret when she wanted to announce it to anyone who would listen, monitoring his progress without interfering. Five months of nightmares and loneliness.
But then she’d let go. Six weeks ago she’d moved to Denver and vowed to wait it out. Tired of making a fool of herself over a man who had once told her daily how in love with her he was, she’d thrown herself into work, moving, jogging...into anything that kept her mind off Michael, war, death and horror.
“The infamous Hope Shane makes an appearance,” Becky said from behind her. “I had a feeling you’d show up if that Marine paid you a visit. Why do I smell French fries? Are you sneaking fast food to the Colonel in that bag of yours?”
She stuffed her hands deep into the pockets of her thigh-length leather jacket and feigned innocence. “Why didn’t you tell me he was here? Why did I have to hear the news from someone else?”
“He asked me not to.” Becky pulled a Colorado State hoodie over her scrubs.
“That simple?”
“He’s my patient.”
“He’s my…” she bit back the word husband. “Are you leaving for the day?”
“Yep.” Becky scanned her from head to toe with open curiosity. “What’s with the two of you?”
“It’s complicated.” She shifted from foot to foot under her sister’s scrutiny. “Point me in the right direction and you can head home. I’m sure it’s been a long day.”
“He thinks you arranged to have him relocated here.” Becky lifted the flap of the messenger bag with her finger. “Is that a liquor bottle?”