Fierce Protector: Hard to Handle trilogy, Book 1 (15 page)

Eva warily eyed the last slice of pepperoni, but decided against it, tossing the box in the fridge.

“I’ll help, Sis,” Hank said, rising to wipe down the little living room table and run a Dustbuster over the floor. “I suspect Mr. Norcross likes to keep a tidy home.”

Eva finished the brief chores and sat down, yet again, in front of the TV. “He’s not OCD, or something, just neat.”

Hank shrugged. “Sure. Lot of military guys are like that.”

“He’s out of the military now,” she explained. “He was injured.” Hank ignored her, focusing on
Jeopardy
. “In combat,” she added pointedly.

“He was
there
for combat, Eva. He knew the risks. What is
Thelma and Louise
?”

“Huh?”

“Are you not watching this?” he asked. This had been his favorite show since childhood.

“Not really. Did Zack say when he would be back?”

Hank shook his head, then ladled on the Austrian accent and intoned, “
’I’ll be back’
. That’s all he said.”

Eva threw a cushion at him. “He’s not some robot, you know. He’s actually pretty cool.”

Hank muted the commercial break and turned to his sister. “His
muscles
are pretty cool. His ever-so-handsome face and his nice lifestyle are pretty cool, right? But I wouldn’t say he’s been all that cool to
me
.”

She explained for the sixth time. “If you hadn’t
hit
me, he’d be much nicer. He’s got a real problem with violence.”

“Hah!” he laughed derisively. “A martial-arts-expert-Navy-SEAL with a Buddhist streak! Give me a break!”

“Violence against
women
, I meant.” She was running out of cushions to throw. “You can imagine that, right?”

“I can imagine him being pretty screwed up by the fuckin’ ‘War on Terror’,” he said, hand-quotes cynically aloft, “
that’s
what I can imagine. I’ve seen those commercials about the soldiers who come back with PTSD or something. You said it yourself, he was injured. He’s got hate issues; he’s there thinking, ‘if you live an alternative lifestyle, you’re just like the terrorists’”.

Eva folded her arms, for twenty years her signal that Hank had upset her. “You don’t know
shit
,” was her accusation, followed by the last cushion, thrown hard at his head.

“OK, OK. I get it. Evie’s in love and won’t hear a thing against him.”

“He gave you a
roof
over your head, you ungrateful turd. And you see that car out front?” Hank hadn’t noticed, and flicked the curtains briefly to check. “That’s an off-duty fireman, a friend of Zack’s, and he’s keeping an eye on us while Zack’s out. Do you
get it
now?”

“Wow,” Hank allowed. “Like having a bodyguard.”

“It really isn’t for
you
, if you must know, but Zack is the only thing between your cocaine-snorting friends and your sorry ass. So just remember that.” She re-folded her arms and glared at
Jeopardy
, which was reaching its final stages. “What is
Great Expectations
.”

The audience cheered. “Good one, Sis.”

The rest of the show passed in silence; neither of them knew the answers, and Eva was too mad to continue explaining the basics of life to her brother. Then, Hank said quietly, “I know I got no choice but to talk with this DEA guy tonight.”

Eva took the remote, turned off the TV, and took a seat on the sofa by her brother. “It’s the right thing to do,” she said, her soft tone a surprise to them both.

“Well, maybe. I’ve just always had a fear of cops. I wouldn’t make it, you know. In jail. I’d be somebody’s bitch, or they’d have to put me in solitary for my own safety, or . . .”

“We’re not thinking about jail. You’ve seen the movies, come on . . . They’ll offer you a deal and you’ll take it, then get yourself a nice job somewhere a whole lot warmer than Chicago, and everything will be fine.”

“A
nice job
,” he echoed sarcastically. “What the hell could I do?”

It was moments like this which their father had cruelly labeled Hank’s ‘bipolar’ episodes. He could be up and cheering, or giving his all in a debate, and then moments later crash to these depths of self-doubt. “Plenty of things. We’re going to help you.”

Outside, there was the unmistakable slam of a car door, and Hank nervously pulled the curtains across once more. “It’s Zack. He’s talking to the fireman guy. . . . OK, he’s coming in. Don’t tell him I joked about PTSD, OK?”

Eva smiled and leaned over to kiss him on the forehead. “Not a word.” She opened the front door for Zack, his hands full with bags of groceries.

“Hey.” Keys on the counter, bread and beers and vegetables into the fridge, all without a word. Eva helped in silence, hoping that Zack might thank her, or show some gap in his otherwise frostily impenetrable armor. Instead, he got a beer and slumped into an armchair, flicking on the TV.

Shit.
All three sat amid the stern atmosphere Zack had brought home, afraid to laugh at the TV or, in Hank’s case, even move a muscle. It was only when Zack’s phone rang that the odd silence was broken.

“Hey . . . Yeah, we’re all set up here. Brandon kept an eye on the place while I was out, and he said it’s quiet as a broken clock. You got an ETA for tonight?” Hank’s ears pricked up but he didn’t dare show his nerves, not with Zack in this mood. “Sounds good . . . Yeah, he’ll be here,” Zack said pointedly, glancing at the silent Hank. “Copacetic. You wanna talk to him at my place, or . . . Oh, OK. Good idea. Yeah, I know, with the situation, it’s best to . . . OK, buddy, same wavelength as always. Catch you later.”

Zack took a long pull on his beer, almost draining it, and returned to silently glowering at the TV. Eva thanks her stars when her own phone rang. “Hey, it’s Trish. You guys mind if I take this here?” The two men shrugged, neither interested in eye contact. “Hey, sweetie, what’s up?” she asked with forced brightness.

“Eva, you just ain’t gonna believe what went and happened.”

“Is everything OK?” she asked, but knew from the giggle in Trish’s voice that this might be her first ‘good news’ phone call in a week.

“Oh, yeah, babe, better than OK. We’re going on a cruise!”

“Sweet! When?”

“We were given tickets by . . . a friend . . . and we’re leaving
tonight
! Cozumel, here we come!” she trilled.

“That’s
wonderful
!” Eva said, genuinely happy for her friends. “Don’t forget your bathing suit!”

“Already packed! Tyler can’t wait to do some more scuba, and . . . oh, honey, best of all,” she said, almost forgetting, “they upgraded us straight away to the junior suite! We’re gonna get us some luxury!”

Eva sat down amid the grumpiness on the sofa, hoping her smiley effervescence would rub off. After four more minutes of intolerable silence, she announced, “Trish and Tyler are off to the Caribbean for the long weekend”.

Zack turned and actually smiled, to Eva’s immense relief. “That’s great! Good for them.” He tossed his bottle in the kitchen recycling and said, “Just gonna take a quick shower. Then maybe we’ll order something?”

The water began, and Hank raised an eyebrow. “Is he normally as delighted when friends go on cruises?” Eva shrugged with a ‘search me!’ expression. “Well, if he’s not staring at me, wishing I’d just give up and hang myself, I’m just as delighted.”

After dinner, which continued the brighter conversational trend Eva had prayed for, Hank took his turn in the shower, as much to calm his nerves before Gray arrived as to wash his unruly hair; in the small house, this was almost the only private time two people could get. Zack asked Eva to sit with him.

“Eva, I want to apologize.”
Praise Jesus and all of my lucky stars.
“I need to explain something,” he said, listening to check that Hank was under running water before he began. “This is difficult for me.”

Eva plucked up her courage, slid toward him and put an arm around his shoulder.
God, it’s like cuddling a tank
. . .
a suddenly very human, very beautiful tank
. . . “My stepfather,” he said steadily, “used to get his kicks from . . . well, kicking my Mom and me around the house.”

“Oh, Jesus, Zack, I’m sorry . . .”

A gentle raised hand told her to let him finish. “Mom forgave him, every
single
time. You know how that happens, right?” Eva nodded, resting her head on Zack’s upper arm as he finally let the words come. “But we couldn’t take any more . . . my brother and me . . . and we made a pact, to leave and never to come back. He was seventeen, I was fifteen.”

Eva waited, imagining the pain of such cruel insecurity, the warmth of a home denied him by some bastard imposter who wasn’t even his real father.

“Kyle hitch-hiked . . . I still can’t believe this . . . to
Idaho
, and worked on a farm for a while. He met a girl. He’s happy,” Zack said with a little smile. “And the short story is that I joined the Navy. They gave me a home, Eva.”

“Everyone deserves one,” she said, a simple truth which brought a nod from Zack.

“I’m hard on Hank . . . too hard . . . but I wanted to just kill that coward who hit Mom. You know?”

She kissed his shoulder through his t-shirt. “Yes. I think I know, Zack.”

“You’ve done so much to protect him, and you’re right. He deserves a second chance.” Zack straightened, but gently, as not to break their tender connection. For the first time since sitting down, he turned to face her, this pale and beautiful girl, her eyes close to tears but her smile telling him what he needed:
I forgive you.

The shower water stopped with a metallic clang, and Zack felt, just for a second, like he’d been caught in some illicit act. The feeling passed and instead, before he could look up again, there was the wonderful surprise of Eva’s soft, warm lips pressing gently to his own. For a delicious, blurred moment he existed only within the scent of her skin, the brush of her soft hair against his cheek, the tender play of her lips on his. Her tongue slipped between them, fleetingly, and then, all at once, her fingertip was to his mouth.

Eva whispered before rising, her lips grazing his ear, “
Later
.”

***

“Well, that’s just really thoughtless, Cheryl. Unbelievable.” The phone call had interrupted their stir-fry takeaway, a surprisingly relaxed meal around the apartment’s small dining table; to Zack’s mounting frustration, it sounded as though the indomitable baker needed some help. “I can be there in twenty, just let me get ready,” she affirmed, and rang off. “Cheryl’s got a big catering job to prepare tonight, and her help just up and canceled.”

Zack dropped his chopsticks. “I’ll come with you.”

“No need,” she said, pulling on her boots. “Anyway, I want you to look after Hank.”

“I want to keep
everyone
close by, tonight,” he objected.
And one of you much, much closer than the other.

“I’m just going to be in Stockdale,” Eva laughed lightly, “not on the moon. Should be done by twenty-two thirty hours,” she joked, and before Zack could protest further, she had kissed them both on the cheek and was out the door.

Hank gave ‘hmph’ and said, “Women, huh?”

“Don’t push it, buddy,” Zack warned, clearing their dishes as Hank sprang up to help. “You’re on probation.”

“How long until . . .”

“Forty minutes,” Zack answered, pre-empting the question Hank had asked six times in the last two hours. “And relax. The man’s an outstanding professional.”

Hank took his place on the sofa. “Speaking of professional, what do you
do
, now that you’re out of the Army?”

“
Navy
,” Zack promptly corrected. “And I’ve been mostly repairing the house and getting myself back in shape.”

“I mean, for a job?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he answered honestly. “I’ve had different offers to work in security,” he said with a meaningful glance, “and to invest in construction . . . a few other things.”

“Secret-type things?” Hank asked, and filled the resulting silence by whistling the
X-Files
theme.

“Shut it. I’ll do whatever seems right at the time. I’m more interested in what
you’re
going to do.”

“Stay out of jail,” he said, toasting the idea with his water glass.

“Surely you’ve had bigger thoughts than that?” Zack wanted to know.

“Nope. I’m keeping things simple. Actually,” he said, raising a finger, “you should know that this is a big advancement in my career planning process. Until yesterday, my personal vision revolved around not getting dead.”

“Congratulations on the promotion,” Zack said tolerantly, raising his own glass. “But seriously, you know the best ways to get out of a slump?”

“Do tell.”

Zack scooted forward and launched into one of his favorite subjects. “What do you know about fitness?”

***

“Detective Grayson Alexander, I want you to meet Mr. Hank Montgomery.” Zack almost added,
drug mule to the stars
, but decided against it. “You two are gonna take a little ride.”

“We’re not going to talk here?” asked Hank in a flurry of panic. “Where are you gonna take me?”

“For the thousandth
fucking
time, will you
relax
. Gray’s gonna ask you a bunch of questions and I don’t really want to hear all about your . . . checkered past.”

“We’ll go out as far as I-37, then turn round and come straight back,” Gray confirmed, his hands mimicking the route. “Two hours, maybe three. With the work I do, it’s better to . . . keep moving. I do appreciate,” Gray was at pains to be clear, “your valuable time.”

“Oh, horseshit. You appreciate me rolling over like a puppy.”

“Hank,” said Zack tiredly, “do as the man says and everything will be fine. Eva says she’ll be here at about eleven, and when Gray brings you back, we’ll have a drink and just chill out, the three of us. OK?”

Car doors closed, Gray took them steadily out of Zack’s neighborhood, and for the first time in . . . it felt like several days, he could relax. “Peace,” he breathed with a deep relief, “and quiet.” He pulled a thick cushion from the couch and sat on it, cross legged on the floor, straightening his back into the traditional meditation posture.
Deep breath in
. . .
slowly out
 . . .