Men-of-Action-Seres-04 -Saints and Sinners (5 page)

"And your feet?" The medical officer cut Sully a look that told him he disapproved of Alaina's condition.

"They took my shoes from the first day. Captain Masterson didn't notice I was without shoes until we were deep in the jungle. And I guess I was so scared that it wasn't the first thing on my mind either."

"I see. Well at least the Captain managed to get you out of there alive."

Sully wondered what Alaina was up to. She hadn't complained about his attitude toward her. She hadn't mentioned that he was the one who had shot her. She hadn't even mentioned that he gave little attention to her condition as he navigated their way to their pickup point. He didn't trust her. She was a woman; she had an agenda. He just wasn't sure what her agenda was yet.

He was six months away from retirement. Twenty years, plus one day of service would ensure benefits paid. He was military, career military at that, and he knew he would miss some of the action, but he had something more important to worry about. He was thirty-seven, almost Saints and Sinners 38

thirty-eight, and he had more responsibilities now than he had when he first joined the Navy. He had managed to juggle both the civilian family life and the military life—until now.

Now, all he needed to do was make the next six months without getting himself killed and then he could go home permanently. Up until now he had thought maybe he was out of danger for being wounded in the line of duty. He had wrapped up an undercover mission he had worked on, nearly gotten himself killed working on, with Gavin. He had six months of routine work—nothing that involved covert missions. He basically consulted, trained, educated. Then he got the call to go to Central America on a rescue mission—no room for refusal offered—and once again he was back, full force, in the game.

Retirement was his goal now. What he planned to do post retirement was still a mystery. He didn't see himself sitting around fishing.

He hated fishing. He didn't see himself playing golf. He hated golf too.

When he thought about his future the only thing he knew was that he didn't want to feel trapped in a world that didn't belong to him. The best possibility yet was to find a small town in need of a sheriff. He could have the best of both worlds with a job in law enforcement. He would still be a government employee, he could still carry his gun and take down the bad guys, but a small town would also ensure he could do the safer job. No more traveling to Iraq, South America, Central America, Russia or any other stretch of foreign soil to rescue people he had no connection to. No more covert operations. His life was going to get real simple real fast. It Capri Montgomery 39

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would be an adjustment, but it was an adjustment he was willing to make even if he weren't fully ready for it.

He never thought he would think about retirement. He had always assumed that he would be Navy until the day he died, but life had proven that theory wrong. Things had changed, things that couldn't be undone.

Now he had to man up and retire for the greater good. His mother would be happy. She had wanted him home since the day he joined up. She was going to have her wish granted, a little late, but granted nevertheless. She had told him after his last mission he was needed at home.

"You're needed here," she had said. "And that's far more important than whatever it is the Navy has you doing."

"My work is important."

"Your work is noble, but it's not as important to save somebody you don't know if you can't save the family you have at home."

His mother wasn't sick, she was getting old, but she was still as spry as he remembered her to be fifteen years ago. Still, he understood her words. He had put duty and honor before family and that was his mistake.

He had tried to balance the two. He had tried to be there when he was need, but being called away for covert operations didn't exactly allow for him to be home as much as he should have been. When his father died he spent two weeks at home. Two weeks wasn't enough time to help comfort his mother, to be there for her emotionally. The only thing he had time for was attending to the legal business of death. His mom had two weeks of Saints and Sinners 40

family before he was gone again, and on some level he would never forgive himself for that.

"Miss James, when we land you're going to be escorted to a safe room where you'll debrief with the appropriate people. Your mother will be flown in."

"Right," Alaina chuckled. "My mother is going to put business on hold to come see me? I think sleep deprivation is finally getting to you."

He watched her as she closed her eyes. He couldn't understand how she could be cold and callus toward a woman who had put everything on the line to get her home. He understood the nature of government work; apparently Alaina didn't. He didn't have the time, or the ambition to school her on the responsibilities. Being nothing more than an artist he assumed she didn't have much responsibility. She wouldn't know duty if it were right in front of her face. She was the typical woman; self-centered, spoiled, inconsiderate to the world around her. He hated women most times. The only one that seemed to redeem the species for him was his mother. She was the only woman he trusted.

"Nevertheless," he countered. "You'll be taken some place safe.

They'll ask whatever questions they need in order to figure out—"

"Whatever questions," she grinned without opening her eyes.

"Don't worry, I won't tell them you shot me."

"Tell them what you want," he stated flatly. "You're not the first hostage I've shot."

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"That doesn't surprise me. Still, I don't see a need to mention that little detail." She opened her eyes. He looked at her blankly studying her intentions.

"Mention whatever you like," he said in a tone as blank as his stare. "Now, as I was saying, you'll be debriefed and then you'll most likely be taken home. It could take a few hours or a few days."

"So I'll be prisoner once again?"

"Routine," he stated. "At any rate, you'll eventually be going home."

"Well it's really nice of you to prep me on upcoming events, but—"

"Nice has nothing to do with it. I was told to explain once you were on board and so I'm explaining."

"Typical," she closed her eyes once more. "Well, did they tell you anything about how I'm to get my passport and clothes back?"

"An officer picked them up once we knew you were abducted.

Local authorities shipped your things back a week ago." He didn't understand how she could think about her personal items given recent events, but he could venture a guess and none of his ideas painted her in the best light.

"You'll be able to—"

"Shh," she whispered. "I just want to sleep for now; no more talking okay?"

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He didn't respond. He just leaned back and watched her. Her breathing was slow, shallow, but he could tell she wasn't fully asleep, or fully awake. He was grateful for the reprieve. Answering one question seemed to lead to infinite conversation with her. No other woman he had met had been as annoyingly chatty. There he was, trying to save her life and she wanted social hour without the drinks. She guarded herself, hiding something, what she was hiding he wasn't sure. Whatever she was hiding wasn't his concern. In two hours he would hand her off to the next security officer and then he would go his own way. He had a mission report to write up and then he was going to get some sleep before heading home.

She was irrelevant to his future.

He closed his eyes. Fifteen minutes of sleep would be enough. He trusted few people, and not knowing these CIA agents hadn't gained them his trust. Fifteen minutes would be all he needed because he wanted to complete his mission in its entirety. Getting her on the plane was just the second step in his journey. Getting her home would be the final step. After that she was somebody else's problem. After that he could devote himself to a full six hours of sleep before heading home.

When they landed he finished his mission, handing her off to the Admiral as casually as he would hand off mixed up mail to his neighbor.

"Your mother is still in D.C. trying to figure out how this happened. She'll be here late tomorrow."

"Oh, but I won't be. I'm going home once we're done here."

"With all do respect Miss James it will be best if you wait here."

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"With all do respect Admiral Jordan, I'm going home."

Sully shook his head. "If you'll excuse me, Sir." She was somebody else's problem now, and for that he was glad.

"Report on my desk as soon as possible, Captain."

"First thing, Sir."

"And get some sleep. You look like hell."

"Report first, Sir." He walked away without saying goodbye to her.

They weren't friends; they weren't even pretending to be so there was no need for the pleasantry of formalities.

Sully showered before securing a room to type up his report. The sooner he got that bit of work done, the sooner he could get ready to go home. Now, if he could just manage to stay out of call to duty rotation for the next six months he could retire without further lecture laced with guilt inducing verbiage from his mother.

For the first time in his career he was at a point where he questioned what to write in his report. Miss James had already told him she had no plans to mention the fact that he shot her. He wondered just how much of anything she would mention and the thought occurred to him that maybe he, too, should leave things unwritten. Then, just as quickly as the thought occurred to him it left. He was a professional. He had no problem justifying his actions.

"Well, Miss James is a feisty one." Admiral Jordan walked into the room. "She's refusing to give the details of the wound on her arm. Perhaps you know how she got shot."

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"Yes, Sir."

"Yes, that's what I thought." He grinned. "Well, I would suggest you leave that part out of your report."

"Sir?"

"I've had this conversation with you before, and you know darn well I'm not going to reprimand you, but her mother has connections in high places that could cost you your career. You're close to retirement, don't screw it up." Admiral Jordan walked around the table stared at the laptop and then hit the back space key until the information in question had been deleted. "Trust me on this, Sully; you don't want to screw with your pension. Not after all the work you've done for this country."

"Understood," he nodded. A woman like Ms. James didn't get where she was without making powerful friends, and enemies. He understood the implication that she could be the cause of an honorable separation, or a dishonorable one. He wouldn't risk it. He had too much riding on getting out in good standing, and he wouldn't throw it away on one bullet. He didn't fault Ms. James. She was a mother who cared about her daughter, and one who probably wouldn't understand hurting her to save her. He could leave that one minor detail out of his report.

"What else did Miss James say?"

"Just that you got her out of there, and helped her when she thought she couldn't go onward. She said good things about you."

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"Really?" She had surprised him. He was sure she was waiting for the right person to complain to like any other spoiled woman, but she hadn't. Why hadn't she?

"It appears you gave her no reason to doubt your ability to save her life, and apparently no reason to complain."

He had given her plenty reason to complain. She had expected some Hollywood version of a rescuer and what she had received was reality, his reality. "Well, Sir, now that my report is finished I'd like permission to leave."

"Permission granted. I'll get one of the officer's to arrange transport."

"Thank you, Sir, but I'll fly commercially." The sooner he could get back to Connecticut, the better. Forget sleeping first. He could sleep once he boarded the plane.

"Suit yourself." He shrugged before walking toward the door. He stopped and turned to Sully. "I knew you could get her out. If I had any doubt I wouldn't have let them send you in."

Somewhere between signing off on his report and booking his flight home, Sully managed to suppress the nagging questions rising in his mind. Miss James' actions had proven him wrong on one count only. As far as he was concerned she was everything he thought her to be, he just couldn't figure out why she hadn't taken the opportunity to throw him under the proverbial bus. She had to know of her mother's influence, of her ability to inflict irreversible damage to his future, yet she hadn't taken Saints and Sinners 46

the chance to cut off his balls and toss them to the lions. Maybe that unnerved him the most. She had to be plotting the opportune time to speak up. If she weren't then that meant he had misread the situation and he was not in the habit of misreading anything.

Alaina didn't stay long at her new holding place. She wanted to go home and so she went home. Her mother had never cared for her before; there was no need for her to wait around for Liz to show. She wanted a hot shower, fresh clothes and a comfortable bed, her bed. Her first order of business was the hot shower. After being forced to bathe with an audience the privacy of her own bathroom was a blessing. She turned on the hot water and tempered it with the cold. She ran her fingers along the glass block shower wall before discarding her clothes. Looking at herself in the mirror she surveyed for any damage. Outside of a few bruises she was no worse for the wear, physically anyway. Emotionally she would have to wait to see. She knew she could move past her captivity, she just didn't know how long it would take, or what it would take, to get over it. She knew her art would play a vital role, it always had. Still, she wanted the sense of comfort that could only be given by somebody who loved her. A hug, a hand held, a few words of comfort, that was what she really needed; it was the one thing she knew she wouldn't get.