In the Dark (24 page)

She wore a butter-yellow pantsuit that made her look stylish and savvy. She bantered with the men, demonstrating an ability to hold her own while SEALs pressed closer, drawn to her like moths to flame.

Swilling a club soda with lime, Luther found himself craving a tumbler of scotch—something with enough punch to take the edge off his agitation. So what if twenty guys were drooling over Hannah? They'd talked about this. His plans and hers didn't jive. They were incompatible. He had no claim on her.

Bear, who occupied the stool to his left, gave Luther a knowing look. "Man, you are so hot for her, I can see steam comin' out of your ears."

"I don't know what you're talking about" Luther growled.

Bear chuckled "In that case, maybe I'll take a shot at her myself."

He edged off his stool to join the other men.

Luther squeezed his lime into his Perrier and sent a seed flying.

A shuffle of feet had him glancing to his right Westy had
come
to Hannah's rescue. He was leading her toward a pool table, one hand on the small of her back. Luther swiveled on his stool to watch them.

SEALs gathered around the table with Bear and Tinny at opposite ends. The chief gestured for Hannah to break.

She did, hitting the clustered balls with such force that she sank three of them, claiming solids.

On her second turn, she nailed another one.

Luther stopped watching the table and started watching Hannah. As she stalked around the end of the table, the material of her pantsuit clung to her sleekly muscled thighs. She considered the various shots available to her, her bright hair bouncing and shifting. He remembered how soft it felt, sliding through his fingers.

Hannah settled for a shot that required her to lean
way
over the table. Twenty pairs of eyes admired her curves.

Luther felt his blood pressure rise. Hannah brought the stick back, and pow! she hammered the cue ball, sending yet another solid into the corner pocket.

Bear and Vinny hooted with appreciation. At his end of the table, Bear fluttered a five-dollar bill in the air and pointed to Hannah. Vinny nodded. The bet was on.

And Westy hadn't even had a turn yet.

Hannah eyed the field. Indicating the side pocket, she leaned down and banked the red solid off the far right wall, straight into the center hole.

"Ho, ho, ho!" Bear exclaimed. There was only one solid left, a green one nestled against the short end of the table on Teddy's side.

Hannah studied it from all angles as she orbited the table.
Come on, baby,
Luther thought, cheering for her silently.

She looked up abruptly, meeting his gaze through the crowd.
Don't call me that,
Luther imagined her saying. He smiled faintly, and she looked away, frowning as she brought her focus back to the game.

The crowd grew hushed, considerate of the concentration required to keep her lead. The music in the jukebox throbbed in the background.

You can do it,
Luther thought as Hannah gave the world's most difficult shot her very best effort.

She almost succeeded. The ball fell just shy of the pocket, leaving Westy the opening he needed to secure his reputation.

Vinny pulled a five-dollar bill from his wallet, licked it, and plastered it to his forehead. Luther groaned, recalling that Vinny was—what?—nineteen years old?

As Westy moved around the table sinking one ball after the next, Luther watched Hannah's expression. Given her wry smile, she had to sense that Westy was going to beat her. It didn't seem to bother her. Her equanimity, along with everything else about her, impressed him.

I want to keep her.

The thought came out of nowhere. Luther put his glass down before he dropped it.

No, no. It'd barely been a month since he dumped Veronica. He'd sworn to himself that he'd never ever date another woman who didn't share his vision of family and fidelity. Compatibility was everything.

But I want Hannah. I can compromise.

It wasn't in his nature to be flexible. All his life, he'd envisioned marriage to a sweet and sexy and domestic female. They'd have three kids, two boys and a girl.

Hannah was sweet and sexy, but she wasn't the least bit domestic. She wanted to work overseas, for God's sake. She had plans of her own.

But maybe they could work around that. He went overseas himself, all the time. If they could see each other several times a year... There had to be a way to make it work. There wasn't another woman like Hannah. He'd be a fool to let her go!

He came abruptly to his feet and walked to the table just as Westy sank the eight ball. The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea for Moses. Westy glanced up from his winning stroke and caught sight of him. He grinned with approval as he laid his stick down.

Luther stepped over to Hannah. "Can we talk?" he asked quietly, his heart beating with mixed fear and hope.

"Sure," she said, looking puzzled. She thrust her pool stick at Bear. "Where?" She looked around.

Rascal Jack's was packed with SEALs and regulars trickling in. There wasn't a private corner anywhere. The music was too loud.

"Let's go outside," Luther suggested. The late September sky had mellowed to a color not unlike the juice they'd sipped by the pool in Guantanamo. Newman's bodyguards were in the parking lot. How dangerous could it be to get some fresh air with two dozen SEALs within calling distance?

The cool air came as a welcome contrast to the bar's smoky interior. Luther hunted for a place to sit. His legs were feeling shaky, like they did right before high-altitude, low-open parachute jumps. What if Hannah turned him down?

But the curb was filthy, littered with trash, spilled beer, urine, and God knew what else. Rascal Jack's shared a parking lot with a tattoo parlor and a dry-cleaning shop. It wasn't the most romantic spot to ask Hannah to start a relationship with him.

The scrubby pine trees at the back of the buildings offered privacy, but he preferred to keep close to Newman's bodyguards.

Luther honed in on the tailgate of his truck. Leading Hannah over to it, he wiped the dust off the bed liner so they could sit without sullying their dry-clean-only outfits.

Hannah eased onto the tailgate and waited. Uncertain where to start, Luther stared straight ahead, past the chain-link fence that separated them from Oceana Naval Air Base's landing field. A cargo plane, a C-5 Galaxy, the size of a whale, lumbered up the runway in preparation for takeoff, its engines flaring. With the crimson sunset beyond it, the view was almost picturesque. And if that damn plane could get off the ground, Luther thought, then so could his relationship with Hannah.

The engines roared, giving him added time to organize his thoughts. The nose of the Galaxy went up. For the longest time, it seemed to hover just above the ground before climbing ponderously into the sky. Hannah waited. "You know how you asked me what I want the other night?" Luther began, glancing at her quickly.

Her wide eyes struck him as especially green. "Yes," she said.

"My plans aren't set in stone, you know." She searched his face, needing clarification Luther gave up beating around the bush. “I  think you're amazing, Hannah," he admitted. "I want to have a shot with you. If I have to change my expectations, then I will. I just don't want to let you go when this is over." She looked stunned, completely bowled over. "Guess I took you by surprise," he added, because the silence was killing him.

She drew a deep breath, then huffed it out again. "Oh, Luther." She was about to say something more when her gaze shifted past him, toward the tattoo parlor. "What the...
Get down!"
She threw herself at him, tackling him into the bed of the truck.

In the same instant a
hiss
and a
thunk
made Luther realize that a bullet had just punctured his vehicle inches away from where he lay now, on his back with Hannah on top of him. He pulled her head down, wriggling toward  the side of the bed, hoping it would shield them. "Where'd that come from?” he asked.

"Shooter on the roof," she said in a thin voice.

Damn it, where were Newman's bodyguards? Luther snatched the cell phone off his webbed belt.

Thunk.
A second bullet embedded itself in the truck bed, just inches from Luther's thigh. "Shit!" he whispered, twisting his body, so that Hannah was on the inside, protected.

That was when he saw the blood.

On her head, just above her temple running into her hairline. The color of her hair failed to camouflage the scarlet stain, oozing into her roots. His look of horror had her reaching up with her fingertips. "The bullet just grazed me," she said, but her face looked pale.

Luther ignored his shock long enough to peek over the edge of the truck bed. He caught sight of the shooter, standing up on the roof of the tattoo parlor, trying to improve her chances of hitting them. If his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, it was Tanya Obradovitch.

He'd been right, damn it. The Individual was back in action.

Luther made a call that went straight through to Gal-worth and Stone, who were probably playing gin rummy in their Winnebago, damn them.

"Yes, sir," Stone answered cheerfully.

With a few choice words thrown in, Luther summarized their situation. Not twenty seconds later, a shot was fired from the Winnebago, then another. Luther braved a second peek. Tanya Obradovitch was retreating.

Galworth and Stone burst from the Winnebago in the same instant that Navy SEALs peered out of Rascal Jack's, summoned by the sound of gunfire. Luther caught sight of Westy, who hurried toward him.

"What's going on, sir?" He glanced at Hannah and paled. "What the fuck?"

"The Obradovitch woman was on the roof there, taking shots at us. Go get her," Luther ordered.

"Take her inside, sir. I'll cover you." Westy stalked to his car. He threw open the back, pulling out his pistol and submachine gun. He tossed the latter at Vinny who came up behind him.

Luther gathered Hannah into his arms. "I can walk," she said. He ignored her, taking care not to jostle her as he carried her into the building, nodding at those who held the doors.

He could hear Westy breaking volunteers into teams of two and sending them in different directions. Tanya Obradovitch would be apprehended shortly.

The jukebox still blared. Luther laid Hannah on the pool table's velveteen surface. The few remaining patrons gathered curiously around. "Call an ambulance " Luther told one of them as he swept the few remaining balls aside. "How do you feel, baby?"

She pretended to glare at him, her face pallid with shock. "I told you never to call me that," she said.

Her head wound was his first priority. He drew away to unbutton his dress shirt, fingers shaking so badly that it took him longer than usual. Casting his dress shirt aside, he stripped off his T-shirt, folding it into a long bandage. As he wrapped it
gently
about her head, he considered how she came to be shot. She'd seen the shooter first, launching herself at Luther to keep him from being struck.

"You covered me!" he raged, tying off the ends of the bandage.

Hannah hissed with discomfort.

"Christ, Hannah, you could have been killed!"

She grimaced. "No. You were the one she was aiming at, Luther," she said rather desperately. "I saw the light from her laser sight designator sitting right on your chest."

Shaken, he could only stare at her. "That makes no sense."

"Somebody wants to hurt me," she interpreted. Her teeth chattered.

Luther looked up. He pointed at a sober-looking sailor. "You, find some clean towels or a blanket if they have one."

The man disappeared.

"Hannah, listen," Luther urged, leaning over her, fingertips lightly touching her face. "They're going to catch the shooter" he promised. "And when they do, she's going to explain why the Individual is doing this. And then you'll be safe."

She clasped his hands with fingers that felt icy cold. Luther's chest and eyes were pressured with emotion. He turned Hannah's palm toward his lips and kissed it. If he weren't so worried for her, he'd march outside right now, arm himself, and hunt down the Obradovitch bitch himself.

"I'll be all right," Hannah whispered, as if sensing his inner torment.

But then her eyes rolled in their sockets and her lids drifted shut.

"Hannah!" he said, terrified that she would slip into a coma and never emerge. He knew enough about head wounds to know that it was best for the injured party to stay awake. "Hannah!" But she failed to rouse at the sound of her name, and he didn't dare shake her, risking further injury.

He wheeled away, dragging his hands through his hair. "Where is that ambulance?" he shouted.

"It's on the way" someone said. "The cops are here."

"Here are some towels." The young sailor approached with an armful of drying towels. He helped Luther cover Hannah up. They propped up her feet to counteract her shock.

But nothing could ease Luther's shock. As he stared down at Hannah's limp body, goose bumps raced over his naked torso. He'd been in situations where teammates had been shot, injured, even killed. But this was different, because this was Hannah.

It was like his future—this whole new life he'd started to envision with her—hung by a thread.

Virginia Beach Municipal Hospital
2 October ~ 10:18 EST

Even with her eyes closed, Hannah was cognizant of the sun streaming through the hospital window. She awakened to it by degrees, turning her head slowly so as not to exacerbate the pounding at her temple. The bandage secured so tightly over her brow seemed to make it worse. Over the thudding in her ears, she could hear the hospital workers hustling about, tending their patients. It had to be mid-morning or so, which meant that Jaguar's trial was well into its second day.

That thought brought her eyes fully open. The first thing she noticed was that the chair that Luther had pulled up alongside her bed was back in the corner of the sterile chamber, empty. He'd remained with her from the moment she'd been roused by paramedics to the wee hours of morning when she'd finally been let to sleep. Luther's steadying presence had made the unpleasant ordeal nearly tolerable. A technician had taken X-rays. Then a doctor stared into her eyes and asked questions, while nurses poured stinging solution into the gash in her scalp. The police had hovered on the other side of the door, impatient to speak with her. Thank God for Luther who'd not only fielded their questions but enlisted their services in keeping watch on her door throughout the night