Men-of-Action-Seres-04 -Saints and Sinners (6 page)

She stepped into the shower, letting the cascading water gently beat against her aching muscles, and she cried. She was home now. She could be grateful for that, but there was still so much she didn't Capri Montgomery 47

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understand. Why had they killed Edita? The men who had debriefed her hadn't provided that information. She hadn't really expected they could at first, but then she mentioned Edita's name and saw the brief glimmer of knowing in the Admiral's eyes. He knew something more than what he had said to her. When she asked about Edita she had simply been told not to worry herself about it. Two women taken hostage at the same time, one vanished, presumed dead, and they didn't want her to worry about it? She had heard Edita's screams, heard the gunshot that silenced them, and she knew in her heart Edita was dead, she didn’t have to see the body to know that. She wondered how her family was notified, if she had family. They hadn't talked much after their captivity and before it; well the only thing she had ascertained was that Edita was traveling alone on her first international trip since becoming an American citizen fifteen years ago.

Alaina felt guilty; guilty because those men wanted her and Edita had merely been a casualty of their political game. She shook the thoughts from her mind and pulled herself from the shower. She was tired, but she was afraid to sleep. She couldn't close her eyes without seeing that moment, the one when her vacation went from exciting art expedition to fighting for her life. She would have unpacked her clothes, but the government hadn't released her belongings to her yet. As far as she knew, her suitcase and passport were still locked away in some government office, waiting to be rifled through, and for what? She hadn't exactly been carrying government secrets.

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She wiped another tear from her cheek before rubbing first aid ointment on the bottom of her feet. The medical officer had assured her she wasn't at risk for infection, but he wanted her to keep the cuts cleaned and treated. She could do that, but the final part of his order, "stay off your feet and get some rest," was less doable. She had work to do. She needed to work, not for the money, but for the healing aspects. She had several cameras she could work with, but she didn't want to be around models right now. She wasn't sure she should even be around people. She opted for painting. Painting was the one thing she could do in absolute solidarity right now, and it was the only thing she planned to do for the next few weeks.

She pulled a panoramic canvas from the storage closet before placing it on her painting table. She had to be the only artist she knew of that didn't use an easel when painting. She set her oil paints on the table, pulled out her painting knife and commenced creation. Three hours later she found herself staring at the darkest piece of art she had ever created.

The piece was neither sad nor angry; it was simply dark, lost, lonely. It was broken, just as she felt broken.

Her mother called. Good old mom with the standard phone call just so she could say, "I spoke with her," when the media asked. Alaina felt as if she owed the obligatory "thank you," but the words wouldn't come from her mouth. Instead, she issued her standard, "to what do I owe this honor,"

sarcasm.

"You should have stayed in protective custody."

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"I'm fine mom. Thank you for asking."

"Don't get cute with me."

She could hear the usual disregard in her mother's tone, yet she didn't cave to the pressure to conform to her wishes. "I wanted to come home."

"Well it wasn't safe for you to go home. You should have stayed where you were."

"I have been in captivity for the greater part of three weeks. I didn't want to spend another minute in it. Why should I?"

"You're all alone there with no protection and there has just been another threat on your life."

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"U
nderstood, Admiral." Sully replaced the phone onto the base.

He didn't need to turn around to know she was standing behind him. He didn't need to turn around for the battle of words to commence.

"Leaving so soon?" Maureen’s tone told him he should prepare for battle.

"I'm still enlisted, Mom, and they need me—"

"You just got home. Can't somebody else do it?"

"No." He didn't want to be rude. She was still his mother, but at times he hated her ability to make things more difficult than they needed to be.

"You're not the only man in the Navy. You shouldn't keep going like this. Leaving for all parts of the world; going God knows where. It's too dangerous. There's more than just me to worry about you know."

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"I know!" He settled his temperament. "I know," he said with more reserve. "I'll be stateside, Maine. If anything happens you just call me on the cell okay?" Since Alaina had refused to leave her home Sully didn't see a need to hide his location from his mother. It wasn't exactly as if he had given her details about his assignment.

"Oh sure. I'll call you. I'd rather call that Admiral of yours and give him a piece of my mind," she murmured as she walked away.

Sully chuckled as he shook his head. If his mother had gone head to head with the Admiral in a battle of words she would certainly be the victor. She may have looked docile at first glance, but she had a way with words that would make the Devil beg for redemption.

She was right. He had been home for two days when he got the call requesting his assistance. "Alaina James," the Admiral had said and Sully knew he was in for trouble.

"Not again."

"No foreign missions, no under the radar rescues, just a little protection detail."

"Babysitting," Sully pushed his hand through his hair. "I'm not a babysitter. Get somebody local. I just got home."

"The Director, or shall I say, former Director, is on the fast track to become president and having her on the side of the Navy is more important than your aversion to women. I expect you there yesterday; understand?"

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"Yesterday" to the Admiral meant urgency, as in not tomorrow, but today. The Admiral had told him he had sent a car to take him to the airport, and that he would have a car picking him up at the other end to take him to Miss James’ house. Sully didn't have a say in the matter; he was going whether he wanted to or not.

Sully pulled his gun box from the safe, unlocked it and secured his weapon. "That's just great," he mumbled. Six months to retirement was going to be a painful six months if they expected him to watch Miss James for the duration. They could have gotten anybody to watch her; CIA, local police, the secret service, anybody except for him yet the Admiral had been sure to see to it that he received the duty. He was sure Miss James hadn't asked for him. He was sure she wanted to see him about as much as she would want a rectal exam. He was sure of that because his aversion to watching her had been just as strong.

He barely had time to pack a bag before the driver pulled up outside. He said his goodbyes before getting in the car. The driver, a young kid who was probably no more than two years into service, pulled away from the house slowly. "I'll switch places with you kid," Sully stated dryly.

"Can't do that, Captain. The Admiral told me to make sure you got on that plane. Duty, Sir."

"Duty," he mumbled. He knew all about duty. Duty had nearly gotten him killed on more than one occasion. Duty had kept him away from home. Never once had he complained…until now.

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"Your ticket is in the glove compartment."

Sully opened the compartment and found one, one-way, ticket to Portland, Maine. One-way was a clear indication that he didn't have a definitive return date. The thought of going AWOL had occurred to him, but his service record meant a lot to him, he wouldn't risk it. Briefly he thought things couldn't be as bad as he was expecting them to be, and then he remembered Miss James, the woman who didn't fully understand the meaning of being quiet. He would have to keep his distance. She would be on her own turf; he was sure she would have plenty to do to keep her busy other than talk with him. At least he hoped she would have plenty to keep her busy. He wasn't a religious man, but this was one time he considered opening up to God and asking for an assist on keeping Miss James out of conversation mode. He would have, but he wasn't sure God listened to sinners.

By the time he arrived at Miss James' place he was tired, angrier than he was when he received the phone call and not in the mood for chit chat. She had a nice home, artfully designed and structurally sound. The raised build assured the living quarters would stay dry in event of minor flood. If they had flood waters over one story then all bets were off. There was too much glass, entire rooms made with windows that assured him he was going to have to keep the blinds down or risk somebody shooting her from afar. He liked the design, but would have added more privacy if it were his home.

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He knocked hard on the door, and repeated the same knock when he received no immediate answer.

"Hold your water!"

He heard the lock turn and the door knob twist. When she looked into his face he could see the irritation. He was right, she hadn't asked for him.

"Oh," she said flippantly. "It's you." She walked away from the door, leaving it open. He assumed that was his invitation to enter and so he did.

"I didn't ask for this assignment."

"I'm sure you didn't. Much like me, you weren't given a choice."

"Look—"

"Just try not to shoot me this time."

"You're not going to let that go are you?"

"Not until you apologize."

She seemed to add a high pitch tone when she dragged out the word apologize, as if she were singing the word. One more annoying habit to add to the growing list.

"You want me to apologize for saving your life?"

"No. I want you to apologize for shooting me. Although I'm not holding my breath." She rounded the corner quickly. "The spare bedroom is down the hall, to your left." She disappeared into a room off to his right.

She was edgy; he hadn't seen that side of her before. Of course he hadn't seen many sides of her at all. He had seen her being held at knife Capri Montgomery 55

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point and somehow she seemed more fearful of him than her abductor. He had seen her show strength walking through the jungle with no shoes on, tired, exhausted even. He had seen her stubborn side, and unfortunately he had experienced her annoying habit of talking incessantly. Now he could add edgy to the list.

He followed behind her. They had a few rules to establish all of which solidified his position as protector. The only way for things to run smoothly was for her to listen to him without question.

"We should get a few things straight."

"Fresh linens are on the bed. I don't have time for television so I don't have cable. I'm afraid you won't get munch on the television in your room, but I do have DVDs and plenty of books should you get bored."

He shrugged. He wasn't there on vacation; he had no need for television outside of the news.

"Well then if you don't mind," she pointed to the panoramic canvas covered in splotches of blue and gold and a large unfinished area in the center. He wasn’t an artist, but he was sure they made easels for a reason.

Maybe she should have invested in one so she didn’t have to use the table.

"There are some rules—"

"You're in charge of my protection. But, as I explained to my mother, I'm in charge of my life. Clear?"

"As long as your life doesn't get in the way of my protection—"

"I'm sure you'll find a way to work with it."

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He understood; she had no intention of surrendering her wishes for the illusion of safety. He mumbled several curses under his breath.

Judging from the slight upward curve of her lips he was sure she had heard some of those curses.

"If you're hungry, there's food in the refrigerator. I'm a semi-vegan so if there's something you want that isn't in there we'll need to go into town for it."

"I'll make due." He left her to her painting as he unloaded his small bag into the drawers of the red mahogany dresser. The king size sleigh bed sat against the rear wall; the mattress covered with Champaign colored, satin linens. "Better than the Ritz," he mumbled.

"I'll have to take your word for it; I've never stayed there."

He looked up to find her watching him. "Miss James—”

"Alaina."

He started to protest until she said, "I insist." He preferred Miss James, but he could easily adjust to at least one of her wishes.

"I wanted to let you know you have great views; just raise the blinds. Oh and sorry about the sheets. I only have silk and satin."

"Slippery."

"But warm." She smiled at him. "I should give you your space,"

she turned to leave.

"I'm curious about something," he waited for her to turn around before continuing. "When is the last time you slept?"

"I slept last night."