Homecoming

Rose Gardner Mysteries

(Humorous southern mysteries)

TWENTY-EIGHT AND A HALF WISHES

TWENTY-NINE AND A HALF REASONS

THIRTY AND A HALF EXCUSES (Winter 2013)

The Chosen Series

(Paranormal thriller/romance/urban fantasy)

CHOSEN (The Chosen #1)

HUNTED (The Chosen #2)

SACRIFICE (The Chosen#3)

REDEMPTION (The Chosen #4) (October 2012)

The Chosen Shorts Series

Emergence (The Chosen Short #1)

Middle Ground (Will’s story) July 1, 2012

Homecoming (Reader’s Choice) August 8, 2012

On the Otherside Series

(Young adult paranormal romance)

HERE

THERE (December 2012)

Copyright © 2012 by Denise Grover Swank

Cover art and design by Cynthia L Moyer

Copy Editing by Jim Thomsen

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used factiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

Chapter One

Will stepped off the plane into the Kansas City airport, each step harder than the last. His heart hammered in his chest, catching his breath.

Keep going. One foot in front of the other.

He felt naked traveling in civilian clothes instead of his Marine fatigues. Naked and vulnerable. Being a Marine had been his sole purpose in life.

Now he had nothing.

His shoulders slumped as he followed the other passengers out of the secure area and toward the baggage carousel. His entire life fit into a duffel bag. What did that say about him?

He looked around for a familiar face, unsure who to expect. His mother? Megan? He knew better than to expect his father. Will wasn’t looking forward to that moment of reckoning.

The carousel kicked on, and bag after bag dumped onto the metal slats. A crowd swelled around the oval space, but Will focused on the tarmac outside the windows. He closed his eyes, sucking in deep breaths, and he tried to block out the screams in his head. And the children’s faces pressed against the glass.

“Hey, buddy.” Someone tapped his arm.

Will reached for a nonexistent handgun at his waist, then grabbed the guy’s arm and twisted it behind his back.

The man let out a shriek of surprise. Will dropped his hold, horror rising in his throat, choking his words. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He backed up several steps, grabbing his head between his hands.

He was fucking losing it.

Close to hyperventilating, he ran outside, surprised by the arctic blast of wind that hit him, chilling the hairs on his bare arms.

Keep it together. Just for a little while longer
.

He’d kept it together for so long he was about to explode.

A security guard moved closer, standing on the sidewalk several feet away. While the uniformed man wasn’t in a hurry to confront him, Will’s training told him that he was being watched. Lifting his head, Will took a deep breath, running his hand over his face.

Get your bag. Get out of here.

His duffel was on the carousel, circling around as bags continued to dump onto the platform. People gave him a wide berth as he moved toward the bag, watching him in curiosity and fear.

The fear was what killed him the most.

His hand shook as he reached for the straps and the older woman next to him scowled. Will knew how he looked with his dark circles, rumpled clothes, shaggy hair, and shadowy stubble. Like a drug addict coming off a weeklong binge. It was a wonder he hadn’t been pulled aside for questioning already.

He had to get out of here.

It had become painfully clear that no one was coming. He’d have to rent a car to go home. Turning to the glass sliding doors, he saw a shuttle bus marked 
Car Rental
 parked on the curb. He started to run toward it as it began to pull away but he stopped in the street, his energy gone after its initial spurt.

A car honked, jolting him out of his thoughts, and he stumbled toward the curb. The guard from earlier moved toward him, a hard look in his eyes. Will had to get out of here and fast. He knew how to get to the car rental building. What did it matter if he rode the shuttle or walked? Who was he in a hurry to see? No one, apparently.

He followed the road circling the airport, about a half-mile to the car rental building. He didn’t have a coat and the cold air froze his skin within minutes. But he welcomed the cold after the desert heat of Iraq, his home for the last nine years. He wanted anything that could rip the memories out of his head and replace it with something else. Maybe he could freeze it out. Maybe he could freeze to death.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had suicidal thoughts since 
the
 
incident,
 as the higher-ups in the Marines called it. He’d been placed under heavy guard after it happened, not only to protect others but to protect himself. He’d never understood that, especially since he hadn’t been publicly crucified. How much easier would it have been if they’d just let him end it all? But the Marines held him up as an unnamed hero, keeping his identity secret, stating that Will preferred it that way. Will had found and captured the third highest-ranking al-Qaeda member, something no one else had achieved despite the fact many had tried. They could even write off the loss of forty children in the Iraqi school as the fault of the terrorist and their booby traps. The Pentagon had their man. Public support for the war had been renewed. But one small problem remained. What to do with Will?

Publicly, Will had been reassigned. Privately, he’d been reassigned to the barracks. Despite the fact Will had led the team to capture the al-Qaeda, he’d disobeyed orders to do it. Will had been told to wait on the brass in Washington to give the final orders while Will and his men watched the man responsible for thousands of deaths prepare to slip out of their grasp one more time. Will couldn’t stomach it and had carried out the mission anyway. The end justified the means. He found it ironic that the part that tortured him the most was brushed off as collateral damage. The deaths of innocent children. And while it was true that the terrorists had planted the bombs as their safeguard, Will’s team had triggered them.

The blood of forty kids, four teachers, and five of his own men stained his soul.

Will was a murderer.

His court-martial, not for the murders but his disobedience, was held in secret in Iraq. The higher-ups didn’t want the public to know that they’d almost lost the terrorist because of their slowness to respond. Nevertheless, disobedience could not be tolerated. Will stood in front of a judge and small jury, ignoring the advice of his appointed attorney, and pleaded with his conscience. Guilty. He refused to pretend otherwise. His sentence? Time served and a dishonorable discharge.

What a fucking joke.

The next day they packed his ass on a plane and twenty-four hours later, here he was. A civilian again.

Snowflakes began to fall from the steel gray sky. They landed on his arms and face and melted. Water dripped from his hair and into his eyes, but he blinked it away as the wind seeped through his clothes and into his bones. His face and hands were numb when he reached the car rental building, his stiff fingers as they fumbled with the door. Several people turned to look as he walked up to the first agency he came to.

The woman at the counter raised her eyebrows. “You must have come from some tropical climate.”

Will shook his head with a scoff, looking down to avoid eye contact. “You could say that.”

“What kind of car can I get for you? A convertible?” She laughed, but a touch of condescension laced it.

Will swallowed his rage. “No, a compact will do,” he choked out. His car was parked in his mother’s garage a little over an hour away. He just had to get there. Preferably without killing anyone else in the process.

The woman looked from Will’s old driver’s license and his current condition, narrowing her eyes. “Are you sure you’re the same guy?”

Will tensed. “Yes.” But that was a lie. He’d never be that man again.

Will tugged at the neck of his t-shirt and leaned over the counter. “Are you almost done?” His words were harsher than he’d meant.

Her gaze rose to his face, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “You in a hurry or something, Mr. Tropical Weather?”

Will had began to warm up and his wet shirt clung to his chest and back, giving him chills. He rubbed his forehead and rested his hand on the counter. “Look, I’ve been traveling for over twenty-four hours and I just want to get home.”

Instead of speeding up the process, she seemed to draw it out, giving him apologetic smiles that were too sweet to be real. Finally, she handed him the forms, and he snatched them off the counter, heading for the exit.

He sucked in a breath as he opened to door to the parking garage, the cold air hitting his wet shirt. Will briefly considered changing, but the need to get home overpowered every thought and instinct. Tossing his bag onto the backseat of his rental, he turned the engine over, waiting for the heater to warm up.

Exhaustion over took him, and he rested his forehead on the steering wheel and closed his eyes. Instantly, the images of children’s faces pressed against windows filled his head. Their screams amid the raging fire roared in his ears. Choking on a sob, he pounded his head into the steering wheel. Would he ever learn to live with what he’d done? Did he deserve to live with what he’d done?

A banging on his window brought him back to the present. A man in the car rental company’s uniform rapped on his window. “Hey, dude, you okay?”