Men-of-Action-Seres-04 -Saints and Sinners (10 page)

She was distracted, running for her book bag. She remembered Mrs. Baker looking at her and telling her not to run because she might fall. There was a loud explosion and when she turned around she could see the fire. Mrs.

Baker struggled to pull Alaina into the building as she tried to break free, tried to get to her dad. She didn’t know what she could have done—nothing she imagined. The car burned hot and fast. By the time the fire crews arrived there wasn’t much left of anything—just pieces here and there. She remembered one of them saying they’d be lucky if they found ashes in that mess. He, of course, hadn’t realized she had been standing right there, praying for a miracle, praying her father was okay. But she knew the prayers wouldn’t be answered. He had been in that car when it exploded and nothing could have survived that.

Despite the fireman’s words, they had found remains—they had found her father’s remains—all that was left of him, all that was left of her heart, and her world.

“If I hadn’t forgotten my bag I would have been in that car. I should have died that day, and for a long time after that I wished I had.” Sometimes, at night, she still held on to that wish. “You ask me if I could imagine anything worse than being told a parent is dead; I can. Watching one die, knowing you should have died with them…It’s a hell I wouldn’t wish on anybody.”

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She prepared a plate for one, stacking the orzo with the chicken and crème sauce she had made.

“You got lucky,” he said in a steady voice. She could tell he was trying, in his own way, to comfort her.

“No, I didn’t.” There was nothing lucky about the life she lived since her father’s death. Being with a mother who hated her, losing a lover, living with guilt and pain, and sorrow. This wasn’t lucky. This was hell. This was a long journey through hell and she wanted out. She wanted to stop being death to all those she loved. She wanted to be happy, to be loved, to be free.

She sat the plate in front of him. “I’m not very hungry anymore. If you don’t mind I think I’m just going to go to bed early.” Early was an understatement. They had made it home by four o’clock; it was now six.

“Alaina…”

“I’ll see you in the morning, Sully. Don’t worry about the dishes, just sit them in the sink and I’ll get them in the morning.” She left him there, to his dinner. Normally she hated having dishes in the sink for hours on end, but she really wasn’t in the mood to function around company right now. Right now she just needed to be alone.

Fortunately, Sully hadn’t protested her departure. She would have gone anyway, but arguing with him wasn’t something she had the strength to do right at that moment. By two that morning she was awake, lying in bed looking up at the ceiling in the darkness that enveloped her room. She couldn’t stay there forever; she knew that. She pulled herself from the Capri Montgomery 89

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comfort of her bed and prepared herself for a hard workout before going downstairs to clean the kitchen. She was surprised to find the kitchen had already been cleaned. The dishes had already been dried and replaced in the cabinet the way she had them before she used them. He was obviously a very observant man.

His light was still out, which meant he was still sleep she gathered.

She went back to her room, worked out, showered, did her hair and contemplated working on her art. She didn’t feel much like working at all.

She also didn’t feel much like going downstairs and seeing Sully.

“Cleaning,” she said. She didn’t have much to clean, but it would keep her busy. After spending most of the day changing linen, bleaching the bathroom, and rearranging her closet, she needed another shower, so she took one.

She had avoided the downstairs region all day, and Sully hadn’t come up. She was sure he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, so she didn’t worry about being a poor hostess. There was still one last thing she wanted to do before calling it a night. She pulled out a storage crate from her closet. Inside were her memories of her dad. Pictures of him with her, pictures she had taken of him with her first camera, pictures she had drawn for him, everything her mother had hid away and she had found throughout the years was in that crate now.

These pictures helped her remember him. For awhile, after he died, the memory of him was so strong. She could remember the smell of the soap he used—Irish Spring. She could remember the sound of his voice Saints and Sinners 90

when he laughed, the sound when he was disciplining her for not paying attention in her math classes, the sound when he tried to comfort her after her mother called her names that hurt her. She could remember how he would tuck her into bed and read her bedtime stories from the Greek classics while assuring her they would give her nightmares and she should let him read her something less grown up. But she hadn’t wanted anything less grown up. Her father loved those books and so she loved them.

After awhile, she struggled to remember things about him. Was there really a scar behind his ear? She couldn’t remember, but she thought there was one the day he died—though now she realized she must have been wrong because there didn’t appear to be any in the pictures she had of him. Those pictures reminded her of the dark striations of his eyes, how short he wore his hair, how wide his shoulders had been. Those pictures kept the memory of him accurate.

“Oh Dad, why did you have to leave me?” She wiped away a tear and continued to go through the crate.

On the side, encased in a mettle box were a few old albums, some of her dad’s favorites. “Jackie Wilson,” she mumbled. “Dad, you loved this album.” She pulled herself from the floor, took the album over to her player and put it on. Nostalgia could kill, she knew that, but thinking about her dad made her sad and happy at the same time. No matter how bad her life had been, for a short time it was great, and she owed that mostly to him. Because of his love she knew how to love. Because of his faith in her she had faith in herself. If it hadn’t been for his support she would have Capri Montgomery 91

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never had the guts to stick with her art. While she wished she could forget all the bad times in her life, she never wanted to forget the good.

She found herself dancing to the fast songs until a slow oldie started to play. She turned around to finish rearranging the crate when she caught sight of Sully standing in the doorway. She blushed. God, she hoped he hadn’t been there long. When she danced she had a tendency to sing and to Alaina, her voice was horrible, singer of the year was not an award she was going to win. When she showered she had a tendency to sing too. Usually the only person who saw or heard her do either was Troy, while he was still alive of course, but her voice didn’t seem to be his primary concern. Of course he loved her and so he overlooked her lack of extreme talent in that area, while Sully—well, he was probably thinking of a way to use it against her.

“Jackie Wilson, my father’s favorite.” So what if he didn’t like what he saw. She didn’t ask him to come up to her room. In fact, she didn’t care at all—or so she told herself, but she did care, no matter how much she lied to herself. Why had his opinion become so important to her? Why did she even care?

He had no words, just thoughts; thoughts about what he wanted to do to her. He approached, snaked one arm around her waist and pulled her close. He didn’t ask her to dance he just started moving. She moved in sync, her arm draped over his shoulder as he held her tight. He could feel her slow, rhythmic breath as her chest rose and fell against him. She Saints and Sinners 92

seemed to melt into his embrace, or maybe he just needed to believe that was what had happened.

It wasn’t until he felt the subtle involuntary thrust of her pelvic against him that he knew she wanted him too—if not emotionally, sexually, and for now he would take it—for now, because he was determined to find a way into her heart one day. He was determined to make sure she wanted more of him, more from him, than just sex.

His hand moved lower down her back until his fingertips felt the apex of her behind beneath them. She inhaled sharply and pressed even more against him. Her fingers clutched his back and he knew she was aroused—more aroused than he had expected. He eased his grip just enough to look at her. When her eyes slowly connected with his all he could see was desire. He wanted a taste of her, but he waited for her to make the move. The last thing he needed to do was scare her back into her shell.

He didn’t have to wait long before he felt her rise on tip toe and lean her lips toward his. He was close, so close, yet he waited. He would let her initiate the kiss before taking over. She seemed hesitant, wanting yet skittish, but he knew, he knew she would follow through. He let his fingertips travel to the curve in her butt, right where thigh and buttock met, and he caressed ever so gently. Another shallow thrust stroked against his body as her hand caressed the back of his neck. Tiny fingers edged him closer and he followed, brining their lips mere centimeters apart before the sound of glass breaking came from below.

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She jumped. “What was that?”

He pulled the gun from the waistband of his pants, guided her to a corner behind the dresser and said, “wait here.” She nodded. The desire in her eyes was gone and now there was only fear.

Alaina’s house offered only one way up from the inside, but two from the outside since her bedroom had French doors leading to the wrap around balcony. He cursed the vulnerability, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

He had a clear shot of the bastard. He could take it now, or wait to see how many of them there were. He was sure there was more than one because whoever wanted Alaina had to know a skilled man had been assigned to protect her; unless they underestimated him, but even then there would be at least three. He decided he’d take the chance of alerting any others and he took the shot. Clean and easy, just the way he liked it.

He eased down the stairs. He had spent some time familiarizing himself with the layout of Alaina’s house, and while it wasn’t the ideal security situation, there were several spots he could use to his advantage.

His eyes focused around the dimly lit rooms, trying to find bastard number two. He rounded the corner to the kitchen where he found the second bastard barely concealed along the side of the refrigerator. He could see enough of the reflection in the glass to tell this one had a gun equipped with a night scope. They obviously planned on neutralizing any obstacle that arose, human or otherwise.

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He eased back from the kitchen and circled around until he reached the opening on the second wall. His new position gave him a clean shot of the enemy and he took it.

“Two down,” he mumbled. Now all he needed was to get the third bastard, secure the house and get Alaina to safer ground.

He heard glass shatter upstairs. There were only two rooms on the second floor; master bed and bath and he had no doubt as to which the sound had come from. He sprinted toward the stairs. He needed to stop him before he found Alaina; before he could take her.

Sully reached the top step, sprinted down the hall and into Alaina’s bedroom.

“Would have loved to sample the goods,” he heard the bastard say as he aimed the gun at Alaina.

Without hesitation Sully put one round into the enemy’s head and watched him fall dead to the floor.

Sully walked over to the dresser. “Come on out.”

“I…can’t breathe,” she clutched her chest.

He mumbled a curse as he squeezed behind the dresser, trying to get his big body in the tight space. She was having a panic attack. He understood her fear; staring at the barrel of a gun aimed point blank at her head was reason for fear.

“It’s okay; he’s dead.” He took hold of her arms and pulled her out past the dead body. “Just don’t look,” he said as he guided her down the stairs, past another body and into the sitting area. Tears streamed down her Capri Montgomery 95

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cheeks. She wasn’t crying hysterically because of what just happened; she was crying because she wasn’t getting enough air.

“You’re safe now.” He spoke softly, comforting her with his words. Soon he saw her breathing patterns near normal. She nodded to him, perhaps letting him know he could do what he needed to do now. He needed to call it in, not only to his C.O., but to the local authorities as well.

Alaina sat on the white seating ottoman, knees pulled in close to her chest and her head resting atop them. Sully placed his hand on her shoulder and she lifted her head. The tears were gone now, but her eyes were still glossy as if she could cry any moment. She was holding back.

He figured she had learned how to do that years ago.

“He was going to kill me. If they wanted me dead why didn’t they do it in Central America?”

He had been asking himself the same question. When he saw that man ready to take the kill shot he knew the rules of the game had changed.

They couldn’t ransom a dead hostage, which meant this had nothing to do with being a political pawn. His mission had shifted abruptly from keeping her free to keeping her alive.

“We have to leave here. A safe house has already been arranged.”

“I’m going to die,” she said absently, as if she hadn’t heard his words.

“Don’t give up on me.”