After a long silence, she heard Devon exhale. “So this is work related. Are you sure this is a good idea? You looked like you were about to drop from exhaustion at the station. Have you even been home yet? Have you taken a nap yet?”
“I need this over, Dev. We’re close. Two can play at his game, you know.”
“I’m worried about you,” Devon said quietly. “Fine. I’ll be there. It doesn’t hurt to be seen, give out some business cards, rattle a cage or two, but then you need to promise me that you’ll go home. Marshall and I will follow him from there. Just us. You need some sleep before you do something rash.”
Rash. Right. She rolled her shoulders back before ending the call without a response. It would be good to be back in a war zone where no one gave a damn how much sleep she’d had or questioned her judgment every ten minutes. Screw this relationship business. She was good alone. Better.
She parked in the parking lot. So did the Jag. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and stared in the side mirror toward the tinted windows of the other car.
Dude nudged her with his nose, speckled paw resting on her thigh. Without looking away from the Jag, she scratched her puppy behind the ears.
Her cell phone rang again. Caller ID said Becky. She hit ignore without an afterthought.
Sighing, she stowed Dude into his crate in the backseat, locked her Jeep and walked into the strip club like she owned the place. So what if she weaved a bit. No big deal.
She blinked at the dark interior while her vision adjusted. Mid-afternoon in a strip club equaled the seediest of seedy individuals lurking near the stage. A dancer spun upside down on a pole clad only in a thong. She leaned her back against the bar, admiring the athleticism it took to do something like that, wondering briefly if the pole hurt against the skin.
“I thought you’d wait for me outside,” Devon said, appearing at her side looking freshly showered yet concerned. “The feds are out there, too, by the way. Not very subtle.”
She stared at the dancer’s ankle, the sole support of her upside down body as she did a move that looked more like an acrobat than a dance, and wondered how long she’d needed to practice that.
“You really don’t look right. You look a bit...nuts, actually.” Devon said.
“Shut up about how I look, okay? I get it. I look tired, beat up and edgy. Understood.” She motioned for the bartender. A wave of exhaustion rolled through her, reminding her of the brutality of the day.
“What happened with Michael?” Devon asked.
“He thinks I’m too dangerous to be married to, that’s what happened. Big revelation of the day, I guess.” She slipped her business card and a one hundred dollar bill to the bartender. “I know Gannon owns this place and that’s not what I care about. I want to know about what goes on in the back rooms.”
“So much for subtlety,” Devon whispered.
The bartender, a topless woman dressed in sequined boy shorts, eyed the cash but didn’t touch it. “I know who you are and have nothing to say.”
“You agree with sex slavery, then?” she asked, uncaring that she was being too ballsy for her own good. “I’m going to bring this entire place down.” She pushed the money closer to the woman. “Take it. Call me if you get a conscience.”
“I think you should leave,” the bartender said, eyes as cold as the ice she dropped into the glass.
“Gannon is involved in the human trafficking between San Diego and here. I know it. All I need to know is where he’s stashing the girls. Are they here? Is she one of them?” She nodded toward the dancer on stage. “What else does she need to do to pay off a so-called debt? Huh? Do you know how much trouble you’re going to get into if you know these things and don’t help me?”
“You need to go.” The woman’s eyes darted sideways toward the camera located above the mirror.
Hope followed her gaze and flipped her middle finger at it. “Tell Gannon what I said. Word for word. I don’t have time for his nonsense. I’m going to destroy the son-of-a-bitch.”
She pushed away from the bar and strode back outside with Devon hot on her heels. A quick scan of the parking lot showed no sign of Gannon’s Jag or Marshall’s truck.
“Well, that was classy. You’re begging him to kill you, you know that right?” Devon grabbed her keys from her. “No way in hell I’m letting you drive. At least I’ve had a few hours to nap and shower. Get in, I’m taking you home.”
“No, call Marshall. We’ll--”
“That’s it, Shane.” Devon shook her head and motioned toward the door. “You’re out of control. I’m taking you home and am staying there to make sure you sleep. You look like a zombie with your bruised face and puffy eyes. Get in.”
She slid sunglasses back over her eyes and slouched in the passenger seat, arms crossed defiantly across her chest. A lone tear trickled down her cheek, but she didn’t care. She turned her face toward the window...the sounds of the van exploding from this morning still pounding in her ears. When she closed her eyes, she saw Michael’s face twisted with accusation.
“You need a keeper, do you realize that?” Devon said between clenched teeth. “What the hell happened with Michael?”
She chewed on her knuckles. Everyone thought she was some irresponsible lunatic running around endangering lives, so why not live up to the image? Screw it. She had nothing more to lose.
She was so tired. Eyelids heavy, she curled against the door. It wouldn’t hurt to close her eyes for a minute. Rest. Avoid a debate about right or wrong.
When she woke up, they were parked in front of the institute rather than her loft. Devon leaned heavily against the steering wheel talking in hushed tones on the cell phone.
“Why are we here? I don’t want to be here.” She frowned at her slurred words.
Devon ignored her and stepped outside.
She twisted in her seat and noticed Dude sleeping soundly in the back seat. Twilight descended, the sky blood red over the shadow of the Rocky Mountain Front Range framing the city skyline.
Becky opened the passenger door, face less stormy and more concerned. “The Colonel’s packed and ready. Were you going to leave him here?”
She blinked, wondering if she were still dreaming. Nothing seemed real in the strange fog in her brain. So tired. She hadn’t been this tired in a long time. Her arms felt heavy when she shoved her hands through her hair. Her hair hurt at the roots from the blinding headache throbbing in her skull.
“Michael’s staying here,” she said, her voice an octave lower than normal. “I really need a nap...and a bath. What time is it? We’ve got--”
“No, we don’t.” Devon shook her head from where she stood behind Becky. “I rescheduled with you know who. Marshall’s got something else for me to look into and you have a husband to take home. I need to catch a cab.” Becky held up her hand to silence her questions. “We’ll catch up tomorrow, It Girl. Tonight you need a keeper and I think only a Marine is qualified for that job.”
Her wary gaze lifted past them all to where Michael waited with his duffel bag in his lap. Her gaze locked onto his, communicating all the hurt of the past months that she was too tired to conceal.
Becky noticed and winced. “Let us take care of you a little bit. That’s what we’re here for...family. Isn’t that why you came back?”
She rubbed her hand against her forehead, unsure what to do with all of these strange sentimental people staring at her as if expecting some grand gesture. How long had she been sleeping? It’s like she woke up in a parallel universe.
Becky caught the keys that Devon tossed to her. “I don’t know how we’re going to handle him getting into this Jeep of yours, but we’ll make it work, I’m sure. Are you okay to drive?”
“What are you talking about?” she finally asked. “Michael isn’t coming home with me.”
“Yes, I am.” He nodded at Devon before meeting her gaze again. Now directly behind Becky, he grinned. “I’ve been told that you were acting more dangerously t
han usual and need to be grounded for at least 24 hours. I’m the man for the job.”
She stared at him, their argument fresh in her mind. “That easy, huh? Just like that you think I’m going to take you home with me?”
“Well, you’re his wife and we’re sick of his outbursts here. He’s very obnoxious, hard to handle, refuses to obey any rules.” Becky’s lips twitched when she produced a stack of papers. “He’s your responsibility. I filed all the paperwork this morning...all you need to do is sign. Of course, this means you’ll be getting the bill, too.”
She squinted at the three of them, suddenly feeling like the last one in on the joke. Reluctantly, she took the papers from Becky. Yep, they were real. She swallowed the lump in her throat.
“Did you really flip off the security camera in a strip club hoping to draw Gannon out to play?” Michael asked with a crooked grin.
“Maybe.” She stepped from the vehicle and moved around them, making sure to give Devon a look that screamed ‘snitch’. Spreading the papers on the hood of her jeep, she shook her head no. “He doesn’t want to come home with me.”
“Actually, yes, I do. We haven’t covered driving or basic household chores yet, but this is a transitional facility designed to teach me real life skills, isn’t it, Becky?” He handed his duffel to her sister, the two of them looking suspiciously like a team.
“Why, yes, it is, Michael. This is a transitional facility designed to help those with paralysis learn real world skills and provide them with on-going physical therapy to assist them in living with their new circumstance.” Becky looked too pleased with herself. Annoying as hell.
“That’s what the brochure said, transitional facility. Definitely not hospital,” he added.
“Things could get dangerous at my house.” She scrawled her name on each highlighted line, gritting her teeth the entire time. “Aren’t you worried about your patient, Beck? I may wreck him.”
“More secure at your house than here.” Becky left them to stuff his bag into the back of the jeep. “Your building is set-up like Fort Knox. He’s assured me that he’ll do his exercises, take his medication and be back here promptly Monday morning for his therapy.”
“Oh, he has, has he?” God, she felt sick. Their argument echoed in her mind and collided with the guilt she felt for the deaths on her conscience. “I hope you’re okay with him living on beer and take-out because I haven’t had any time to grocery shop.”
“Tell me, Colonel, do you plan on drinking beer and eating take-out in the real world?” Becky asked him while snatching the papers away from her.
He pretended to think about the question. “Yes, I do. In fact, I need assistance in rediscovering those activities.”
“Okay, that’s it. What the hell is going on here?” Anger blazing in her soul, she faced them. “Since when are you two so buddy buddy and why in the hell did Devon rat me out?”
Devon’s cab arrived on cue. She winked before slipping away and making her escape.
“Take me home, Hope.” He snagged her hand and squeezed until she looked at him. “I’ve been waiting a long time to come home.”
That did it. Those words. She sighed and broke eye contact. “I’m too tired to argue.”
* * * *
She hesitated with one hand on the passenger door and the other on her hip while she looked between him and the elevated SUV. His red-haired angel. A jean clad, bruised, pissed off, exhausted angel.
“This day never ends,” she whispered beneath her breath before meeting his gaze. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? This is what you want?”
“Get me the hell out of here.” The smile began somewhere deep inside his heart before it found its way to his lips. His red-haired angel was taking him home. About damn time.
“What are we getting ourselves into?” she wondered aloud.
“We can handle it.”
“I swear they’ve got you on some nasty medication. Your mood swings are phenomenal.”
He laughed before looking up to the passenger seat. So much for his certainty about handling anything for the sake of freedom. Getting into the SUV would be a challenge. From the concern on Hope’s face, she thought the same thing.
He bent forward and released the straps on his legs. With one hand on the door and one on the seat, he pulled himself up. She moved to hold his waist, but he managed to stand, albeit briefly.
“I see you have some skills you’ve been keeping secret.” She met his gaze, her hands on his hips. “You’re standing.”
“Ta-da,” he said with a sarcastic grin. “That’s it. Don’t expect me to run a marathon.”
“I don’t expect anything.” She looked up at him, eyes churning with confusion. “I missed looking up at you.”
He grabbed the passenger seat and hauled himself inside the Jeep with as much style as he could fake. Her looking up at him had done crazy things to his nervous system. He’d had a glimpse of normalcy. He closed his eyes for a minute and tried to grasp the gravity of these changes. In only one week with Hope, he’d made more progress than he had in all of the months at Walter Reed.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” she muttered as she arranged his legs in front of him. “I don’t expect anything, I don’t.”
“But you should...” He snagged a strand of long hair that brushed over his thigh as she knelt over him. “You’re my wife...you need to have some expectations of your husband and make sure he tows the line.”
“Yeah, well, I know better than to try to make you do anything.” She met his gaze. Again he was struck at the change in her today--sadness had her in a death grip.
He wanted to pull her into his lap and kiss her breathless, erase the pain he saw in her eyes.
She slammed his door closed and stared at him through the window. The wind tossed her red hair across her face. He questioned this tactic, wondered if it was truly too late to repair what he’d done. She looked removed from him in more ways than physical.
Becky tapped her on the shoulder, said something he couldn’t hear and waved at him.
His heart sunk a little as she walked around the front of the jeep, head bent, not exactly enthusiastic about taking her husband home despite fighting for this for months.
She pulled herself into the passenger seat and briefly checked on Dude who had perked up during the activity. Tension reverberated off of her like a force field. Without looking at him, she faced forward, started the car and gripped the steering wheel with both hands.
“I pull out of this lot and it all changes. You. Me. No going back. We need to have each other’s backs, no more doubts and accusations. I won’t accept anything less than that. Do you understand that? Are you ready to be married to me, Michael? For better or worse and all of that?” Profile to him, she bit her lip.
“I am.” He squeezed her forearm with his left hand until she looked down and noticed that he’d put on his wedding ring for the first time since Mykonos. “Are you ready to be married to a bastard like me?”
She linked her fingers through his, her gaze locked on his ring. “About the pregnancy...I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that. I wanted to tell you after we...after we were on solid ground, not in the middle of a fight. I’m sorry. I’m tired of fighting.”
“Take me home, babe.” Baby Cedars...the thought squeezed his heart in two. They had lost so damn much. “Have you even stopped moving since Frankfurt?”
“Not really.” She dragged her gaze to his and grinned. “So you’re supposed to keep me in check, huh? Is that the grand plan you’ve cooked up here?”
“We’re both a catastrophe of epic proportions, you realize that, right?” He leaned his cheek against the leather seat, enjoying looking down at her. He’d missed it, too. He’d missed a lot of things.
“Speak for yourself. I’m pretty cool.” She dropped his hand and drove from the lot. “Feel good to be out of there?”
“Feels like freedom.” His fingers stroked the outline of her face. He couldn’t
explain how it felt to be sitting here with her, the moon roof open, elbow on the window. “It’s been awhile, you know, since I’ve been a civilian.”
“You’ll always be a Colonel to me.” She glanced in the rearview mirror and sighed. “This does feel a little weird, though, doesn’t it? You and me together again in Denver...a word away from where we met. Surreal is an understatement.”
He lifted his face to the breeze as they drove. Late afternoon traffic clogged the downtown streets as she maneuvered toward her home. As they neared the loft building, unexpected nerves skipped along his spine.
He looked at his wedding ring. The past months had been a constant stream of struggle and uncertainty. Sitting here with his wife about to come home--permanently--seemed too good to be true.
“Having second thoughts about this?” she asked when he remained silent.
He looked at her profile. “I’m unemployed, you know. You married a Colonel and now I’m simply Michael Cedars.”
“I like Michael Cedars.”
“What do you like about him so much? He hasn’t been very nice to you.”
“True.” She changed lanes and said nothing else.
“Why do you have such faith in me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” She shrugged as if that were the simplest thing in the world to say. “We’ve seen a lot together. Fought a lot. Saved each other’s lives more than once. Yes, you’ve hurt me but…that’s not you speaking, that’s the pain.”
“What if the pain never goes away?” He snagged a strand of her hair that tossed in the wind.
“Is that what you think? That it will never go away?” She looked at him once they stopped at a stoplight.
“This story has you spooked, doesn’t it?” He held his hand up when he noticed her automatic defensive posture. “I’m not starting a fight.” And then a thought whispered through his mind that he couldn’t quite believe. He rested his cheek on the seat and looked at her tapping her finger against the steering wheel, eyes darting toward the rearview mirror more than necessary, jaw working overtime. “I know I’ve been locked away from society for awhile now and my social skills aren’t what they used to be.”