Boots on the Ground: Homefront, Book 1 (5 page)

Laurel’s subdued shriek was his first clue that she hadn’t sneaked inside as instructed. A quick glance over his shoulder found her pressed up against the wall next to the door, and then everything happened at once—the air hissed out of a tire as one corner of a truck thudded hard onto its hubcap, Chance tackled Ethan at the knees, seized the gun and ejected the clip, and the music pouring out of the bar came to an abrupt, ominous halt.

Grady scrambled across the pavement to where Ethan lay crumpled on his side, all the fight gone out of him. He looked at Chance over their commanding officer’s limp form. He knew what he had to do.

“Give me the gun.”

“What?”

“I did it. I shot the car.”

Chance shook his head. “It’s property damage with an unlicensed firearm. You could do time.”

“It’ll cost him his bars,” Grady hissed. “My military career’s over—I can ride out the charge. He doesn’t deserve to be punished for this.”

Chance’s stare was flinty but he didn’t argue. Grady could hear hushed, curious voices beginning to build in volume as they approached the back door—there wasn’t much time.

“We were all drunk, I snuck his weapon and shot the car.” He took the Beretta from Chance, gripped it to ensure his fingerprints were on the trigger, then handed it back. “You pushed me over and took it off me. You copy?”

“Solid copy.” Chance’s jaw was so tight that every muscle stood out in stark relief. “I got your six, brother. We’ll find a way out of this.”

“We always do.” He looked back at where Laurel still stood, her eyes round with panic as the wail of an approaching police siren grew louder and louder. In a minute the cops would arrive. They’d probably rough him up, press his face into the asphalt, wrench his arms a little—in his pretty extensive experience, small-town police officers liked to assert themselves when they came up against a man his size, especially a soldier. Then they’d load him into a patrol car and let him stew while they interviewed witnesses, assessed the scene, dropped random things they found on the floor into plastic bags as potential evidence. Finally they’d drive him off, telling him lurid stories about the characters he was about to spend a night alongside in a cell.

And Laurel would see it all.

He flashed her an encouraging smile as the first of the policemen burst through the door to her right. In less than a second they were on him like pit bulls, and as his forehead scraped against the hard, filthy ground, he thought,
At least I’m not boring
.

Chapter Six

“Seriously, Blake, I owe you about ten million cupcakes.”

Her older brother smiled, pushing back a strand of the blond hair that was as thick as ever as he approached forty. “Only if you’re buying them. I prefer my baked goods not to resemble hockey pucks.”

Laurel squinted in the glare of the bright Monday morning sunshine reflecting off the courthouse steps. “I mean it. This guy doesn’t deserve to start civilian life in prison, and you’re going to keep him out of it. What can I do to thank you?”

“From your account I’m only doing the right thing—which is exactly what he did. But if you’re insisting, why not bring him around so we can meet him? Our street’s having a big block party for Memorial Day. See if he’s available.”

She shifted uneasily. “Why do you want to meet him?”

“Because I like to know who’s courting my sister.”

“What?” She attempted a dismissive laugh. “No, we’re not—”

“Don’t even start. I can’t say I would’ve pegged him for your type, but as long as you’re happy.” He shrugged.

“I’ll ask him about the block party. Now go on back to the office. I’ve taken up enough pro bono hours today.”

“Family discount.” He grinned. “What’re your plans this morning?”

“I’ll drive over to the jail and give Grady a lift home. I was supposed to be in surgery at eight but it was canceled.”

“What happened?”

“Patient died.”

Blake laughed heartily, slapping her on the back. “Keep up the good work, sis. I’ll see you later.”

Laurel waved to her brother and had started down the courthouse steps when a blond man in camouflage ACUs jogged toward her, holding up his palm to ask her to stop. She saw the captain’s bars on his uniform before she saw the surname stitched onto the right-hand panel: Fletcher.

When Ethan halted in front of her, his blue eyes clear and his posture straight, she saw for the first time the man soldiers could follow into battle—and whose career they would protect at their own expense.

“McKinley finally gave me the full picture this morning, and I came as quickly as I could. I’m not going to lie, I don’t remember a whole lot about what happened, but I can’t let Reid take the fall. Is the hearing over? Where is he?”

“You’re too late. He’s been charged, and he pled guilty. They’re releasing him on bail.”

Ethan swore hotly under his breath, his shoulders sagging. As abject despair darkened his expression, Laurel’s dislike for him dissipated ever so slightly.

“There has to be something I can do. Who can I call? Charges can be dropped, can’t they?”

The memory of Grady standing so firm and unafraid in front of the judge that morning sent a chill racing through her body, and although she felt like slapping Ethan and shoving him toward the judge’s chambers to take responsibility for what he did, she knew that wasn’t what Grady wanted, and she had to respect that.

She sighed. “Let him do this—it’s his decision. My brother agreed to take the case, and he’s sure he can get him off with a fine. But you—” she pointed an accusing finger at him, “—need to get help.”

“I know. Apparently it’s on its way.” His smile was bitter. “They’re bringing in a team from some big-name East Coast university to work with everyone from Echo Company. Supposedly no group of soldiers has engaged in so much daily fighting since World War II. Psychologists are climbing over each other to study us.”

Laurel had no idea how to reply to that, and luckily she didn’t have to—at that moment Ethan inclined his head to signal his departure.

“I’ll find a way to fix this with Grady. In the meantime I’m glad he’s got you in his corner. He’ll try to push you out. Don’t let him.”

He took his leave on that cryptic note, and Laurel shook her head in bewilderment all the way to her car.

She was so lost in thought that the fifteen-minute drive to the jail seemed more like three. Images flashed as though they were high-speed film reels in her mind—Grady’s calm silence as the police sneered obscenities at him in the parking lot, his subtle wink as their eyes met in the courtroom, the kiss that still burned her lips, still filled her with swelling desire, still stole her breath whenever it reared up in her memory.

She reminded herself to be cautious as she locked her car and walked toward the entrance. She and Grady had gone from zero to sixty in a matter of minutes on Saturday night, and in the harsh light of day he might revert to his insistence that he wasn’t ready for or worthy of her. But the more she considered them, the more Ethan’s words made sense. Her instinct was propelling her toward Grady with more force than she thought possible, and she wouldn’t be deterred again so easily.

She pushed open the door of the law enforcement center, noting that despite having lived in this town almost her entire life, this was one building she’d never entered. She vaguely recognized the buxom officer at the reception desk—they’d gone to high school together, though Laurel couldn’t remember her name.

“Laurel Hayes,” her former classmate exclaimed, making Laurel feel even worse at not being able to return the courtesy. “What on earth are you doing here? Are you looking for your brother? Because Blake usually schedules client visits in the afternoons.”

“I’m picking up Grady Reid. Will he be out soon?”

She wrinkled her nose. “That soldier with the itchy trigger finger? What do you want with him?”

Her face heated with indignation. Sometimes she really hated this stupid little town.

“We have sex occasionally.” She shrugged. “You know how it is, sometimes you need it a little rough—and fresh out of jail is about as rough as you can get.”

Tammy—that was her name, and she used to smoke under the bleachers—dropped her jaw so fast Laurel expected it to thunk against the desk. She was about to point out that Tammy’s high-school reputation for entertaining their male peers behind the Dairy Queen didn’t exactly give her much room to judge, but she was interrupted by the appearance of a big Texan wearing a bemused smirk.

“Miss Hayes, what a fine surprise.”

Although his expression was playful, there were dark shadows under Grady’s eyes. He was wearing the same clothes from Saturday night, and he held a sheaf of papers and a clear plastic bag containing his wallet and cell phone. He looked gaunt and pale with exhaustion, and Laurel’s fingers twitched with the urge to run soothing hands through his dark hair.

“Ready to go?”

“Rough and ready, as always.”

Tammy huffed her disapproval as they headed out into the late-morning sun, with Grady holding the door for Laurel on their way to the parking lot.

“You didn’t have to drive all the way over here to get me,” he began as they crossed to her convertible. “Asking your brother to take the case is more than I can repay already.”

“Not everything is a transaction.”

She settled into the driver’s seat, and in a second Grady was beside her. Suddenly the car felt a lot smaller.

“Chance was the designated driver on Saturday, so my truck’s at home—can you drop me at the municipal building downtown? I can still make the afternoon shift on the road crew.”

She glanced from his stubbled chin to the weary hand he ran over his forehead. “Have you slept at all since Saturday?”

“Y’all have a lot of very talkative drunk drivers in this town. If I’d known I wouldn’t see court until Monday, I might’ve let Fletcher take his own heat.”

“Sorry, no Sunday hearings in this two-star town.” She started the engine. “I saw Ethan at the courthouse. He was trying to claim responsibility, but I told him this was what you wanted.”

Grady leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. “He’s saved my ass more times than I care to recount, and he’s hurting something fierce right now. It’s the least I can do.”

Laurel made the diplomatic decision to keep her mouth shut, and for several minutes they drove in silence. It took less than a block for his breathing to become deep and regular, and instead of taking the widening road toward the center of town, she cut down a side street through the residential neighborhood that bordered her own.

Grady jerked awake when she shut off the engine, and he blinked in confusion. “Where are we?”

“This is a kidnapping. You can call the police if you want, but since one of the duty sergeants was my junior-year prom date and he’s carried a torch for me ever since, I’m not sure it’ll do you a lot of good.”

“Jesus, your roots run deep.” He exhaled heavily. “Look, I appreciate the ride, but I really do need to get to work.”

“You’re asleep on your feet. No self-respecting doctor would clear you to work construction right now.”

“Then take me home.”

“So you can jump in your truck and drive out to join the crew? Not a chance.”

“Dammit, Laurel, I need the money,” he barked, then instantly pressed a rueful palm over his eyes.

The terse reply was on the tip of her tongue.
Four hours digging up roads will earn a fraction of what Ethan will get for his afternoon’s work. Ask him to make up the difference.

“What you need,” she instructed instead, “is a long shower, a nap in fresh sheets and a hot meal. Doctor’s orders.”

“I’m racking up debts like a drunk in Vegas,” he muttered, but got out of the car and followed her up the front walk.

“I have to get to the office, but make yourself at home,” she explained as she unlocked the door and ushered him into the entryway. “The shower in the master bedroom is the best, there are towels in the linen closet, and if there’s anything in the fridge, you’re welcome to it. I’ll pick up dinner on the way home—I’ll call when I’m leaving. Have I missed anything?”

“Yeah. The part when you realize that unleashing an ex-con you barely know in your expensively appointed home is completely insane.”

“You’re not an ex-con,” she protested with a feeble laugh—but he had a point.

“Multiple arrests, no charges. Until today.”

“Oh. Well I’m sure—”

“What was it you said in the lobby?” He stepped closer, and she stumbled back. “Sometimes you need it a little rough?”

“I was joking, I didn’t mean—that’s not what I—”

The handrail of the banister dug into her spine as she pressed herself against the staircase. Grady gripped the balusters on either side of her, his eyes dark with an unknowable intent.

“You were right—I’m as rough as they come. No home, no family, no education, just a long list of duty stations and a ninety-percent accurate kill rate at three hundred meters. If you had a lick of sense you’d throw me out right now, tell me to walk home and bolt the door behind me.”

That’s when she saw it—the faint, pleading flicker of hope in his eyes, the glowing ember that belied his frosty tone of voice, the raw wound of abandonment that undermined his possessive stance.

What had Ethan said on the courthouse steps?
He’ll try to push you out—don’t let him.

She brought her hands to his face, traced the hard planes of his cheekbones with her fingertips, ran the pad of her thumb over his lips.

“Then I guess I’m the dumbest thing going,” she murmured, watching the ice in his gaze break away in chunks as she touched him. “Because if you walked out that door, I’d follow you as far as you’d let me.”

The breath he drew was ragged, and the hand that cupped her chin was painstakingly gentle.

“What did I do to deserve you?”

It was a question so beseechingly honest that her heart lurched in her chest. She didn’t know the answer, and she didn’t know what to say, but she knew what she wanted. She knew what she had to do.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pushed up on her tiptoes and sank into the best kiss of her life.

Grady flinched painfully as the front door slammed, but the light, feminine voice that rang out in its wake—“Honey, I’m home!”—was a cool salve on his fiery panic.

It had been one of the more unusual days in recent memory, that was for sure. After Laurel finally slipped out of his arms, her lips swollen and her lids heavy as she visibly pulled herself together to leave for the office, he spent a long time hovering in the entryway, unsure how to react to the enormous generosity and trust she’d shown him. A childhood spent as an outsider in a sequence of homes, topped off by thirteen years of nomadic soldiering, left him ill equipped to be anyone’s polite houseguest, let alone a blue-blooded doctor he sincerely wanted to impress.

For the first hour he lumbered through the many rooms, inspecting everything but touching nothing, feeling like an uncoordinated grizzly bear tiptoeing through an exquisite doll’s house. There seemed to be hundreds of illuminating details his cursory glance had missed that day he’d painted the spare room—haughty-looking fashion magazines intermixed with medical journals in the pile next to the slate-gray leather sofa, an extensive stash of Swiss chocolate in the otherwise bare pantry, and a silk bathrobe in royal purple hanging on the bathroom door that he longed but didn’t dare to touch.

And then there was the bookcase in the living room, where a shelf and a half was devoted to thick travel guides for far-flung destinations—Nepal, Ecuador, Kenya, Russia, Fiji. It was an unwelcome but important reminder of their very different aspirations. She wanted all the excitement and adventure of the transient life he’d just escaped, whereas he was finally ready for the safe, predictable, small-town life she chafed against. The protective walls around his heart thickened a little at that thought.

Eventually he worked up the courage to take a shower, used the least fruity-smelling of Laurel’s bath products, and reluctantly slipped back into the clothes that still stank of the jailhouse. Then he stretched out on the big bed in the room he’d painted and slept like the dead.

“Oh my God, are you cooking?” Laurel appeared in the kitchen doorway, slinging her purse on a counter. “When you said you had a handle on dinner, I assumed you meant you’d call for pizza delivery. I refuse to believe the contents of my cupboards could produce something that smells that good.”

“Don’t get too excited—it’s white chili, but with no meat and no onion. I’m not sure it’ll be anything to write home about.”