McGee raised a beer to his lips and shrugged his massive shoulders. “I’ve got the job driving to and from San Diego, told the boss I needed to hang out here for awhile. It’s not a problem. I’m sure I owe you.”
He drank coffee rather than beer, wanting to be awake when Hope returned. Knowing how dangerous these people were and the lengths they’d go to stop her, he felt it necessary to be on top of his game.
Being on top of his game meant no more meds. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, ignoring the nagging voice that told him stopping pain meds cold turkey was more dangerous than sticking with them. He didn’t care. He’d spent months being drugged, rehabilitated and trapped by his own limitations. That ended now, at least until he knew Hope was safe.
“You okay, man? You’re not looking so good.” Marshall met his gaze. For the first time, he realized that Marshall probably suspected McGee, too. He and Devon had done the research, went on the stake out last night, interviewed the source. If Devon talked as much as Hope did, then Marshall knew as much--or maybe more--than he did.
“You don’t need to hang out, McGee. Hope will be home soon.” He resented the shaky hands and sweat on his brow more than he hated the pain in his lower back that reminded him that he’d pushed it too far. Again.
“I thought I’d crash in Dalton’s room, have your back,” McGee said with a grin. “Hope likes having me here, says it makes her feel safe that you’re protected.”
He gritted his teeth and met his friend’s gaze. “I don’t need protecting.”
“Hey, I mean you no disrespect, Colonel. Just say’n...you’re not exactly your old self.”
“I’m here.” Marshall grinned over the rim of his beer bottle and squinted at the television. “I mean, I’m not exactly a Marine, but I hit the gym every day. My cardio is killer.”
He laughed when Marshall showed off his bicep without looking away from the hockey game. With his shoulder length shaggy hair, skinny frame, ripped T-shirt, jeans and flip-flops, Marshall’s appearance didn’t exactly scream ‘lethal weapon.’
“I think I’ll stay,” McGee said with a laugh. “I don’t mind. I love this place. You really lucked out hooking up with Shane, Colonel.”
“Mike...I’m not a Colonel anymore...call me Mike.” He hit info on the remote to check the time. “I really want to spend time alone with my wife, McGee, so I’m serious when I say I’d like you to leave. We’ll be in touch, I’m sure.”
“Shane...I’ll never forget the first time you two met. She didn’t like you much. For awhile, I thought maybe I’d get a chance with her, but a woman like that wouldn’t settle for anything but the highest ranked officer in the room, even if she thought you were an ass.” Even though McGee laughed, he didn’t sound amused. “The woman’s always been ambitious. I respect that.”
He looked at his trembling hands, unsure if it was caused by too much caffeine or withdrawal from his medication. Marshall noticed, too, and frowned at him.
“Want some water or something?” Marshall asked. “I’m headed to the kitchen for another beer anyway.”
The front door opened with the two women immersed in conversation. The first thing he noticed was the hat Hope wore pulled over her forehead, her long red hair tied back from her face beneath it and the yellow scarf tucked into the neckline of her leather jacket. His gaze snapped back to the hat. Wherever they’d been, it hadn’t been safe.
She dropped her keys on the counter before squatting down to rub Dude behind the ears. When she looked up, she stared directly at McGee without smiling.
Trouble.
“You two are back earlier than I expected,” Marshall said, standing when Devon approached him looking somber and tired.
“We need to go,” Devon said with a nod in his direction. “Colonel. Let’s leave these two alone. I’m sure they need to talk.”
“I’m crashing on Dalton’s bed,” McGee said, either unable or unwilling to take a hint.
“Like hell you are,” Hope muttered without looking at them. She removed her hat and slammed it on the granite countertop. “Go, McGee. I’ve got everything under control.”
“Well, that’s blunt.” McGee stood and stretched his arms behind his back. “Fine. I’ll swing by tomorrow, see what’s up.”
“Don’t bother.” She rubbed her forehead with trembling fingers. The make-up around her eyes had worn off and failed to disguise her black eye or the exhaustion. So much for the glamorous life of a famous war correspondent and investigative reporter.
He’d never seen her look like that. He didn’t like it.
“What happened tonight?” He scanned her for any fresh bruises. “Where’d you go?”
“Long story.” She shook her head and looked at her feet. “I need a shower and for everyone to go now, okay? I don’t want to talk.”
She said a quiet good-bye to Devon, Marshall and McGee before locking all four deadbolts behind them all. With a heavy sigh, she rested her forehead against the door and kept her back to him.
Knowing her well enough to let her sort out her thoughts, he retreated back to the sofa, put the brakes on his chair and slid himself onto the soft leather cushions. Conscious of her moving toward the bedroom, he picked up a piece of pizza and kept his gaze on the television.
When she reemerged in white lounge pants and a matching long-sleeved shirt, she walked directly to the kitchen without a word to him.
He swallowed the last bite of pizza before braving a look in her direction.
She sat at the kitchen counter...watching him. She’d combed out her wet hair and left it loose around her shoulders.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly, eyes full of sadness.
“Stop worrying about me. Come here.” He motioned for her to join him.
She busied herself with making hot chocolate before walking his way. She sank onto the sofa a few feet from him, rearranged some pillows and plopped her feet in his lap. Hands cupping a cup of hot chocolate, she looked the part of ‘wife’. He had never seen her look like this. He liked it. Well, he liked everything except the bruises, bandages, stitches, and silence.
He held her feet in his hands and rubbed the soles with his thumbs. “Want to talk about it?”
“The bastards murdered my source, ripped her up pretty badly.” She sipped her hot chocolate and averted her gaze. “The FBI is setting up in our empty space next door to keep an eye on us. I fought that the other day, but now I think it’s best. I’m close. I’m working with them as much as I can before they’ll shut me out, but...it’s going to be over soon. I know it.”
“And?” He held her foot, captivated by this quiet version of Hope. “How scared are you?”
“Pretty damn scared.” She shut her eyes. “I really screwed up. I let her in my house...who knows who she told or if she wrote down my exact address. I know I’ve been followed, but it’s a big building. From the outside, they don’t know what floor I’m on or what side...I let her in. Stupid.”
He nodded slowly at this new information. “I assume she was tortured...you think someone tried to get information about you from her?”
“About what she’s told me, I suppose, about how much I know.” She blew out a long sigh and opened her eyes. “You don’t need this aggravation.”
He grinned despite the gravity of the situation. “This is your job. I’ve always known what you do. Now I’m here, rubbing your feet, in our house, listening. Isn’t that what husbands are supposed to do?”
Unbelievably, she laughed. “I don’t know...is it? You tell me.”
“The FBI is moving into our empty loft next door. You live in a highly secured building with four deadbolts on the door and...you’ve got me, for what that’s worth.”
“It’s worth a lot.” She sat the mug of hot chocolate down and sighed. “I worry that I’m getting hard...cold hearted...and I don’t like it. While Becky and my nephew were being rushed to the hospital, I was chatting it up with Devon in the park about what information she’d uncov
ered. I leave my family to chase after a source that proved to be a set-up. Questionable decision making on my part.”
Sadness clung to her, even now despite the contented scene of domestic bliss.
He squeezed her ankle. “You’re not hard or cold. You could never be those things.”
Tears filled her eyes, but she shook her head. “Everything got so screwed up, didn’t it? I want to slow down, but it’s like I’m afraid to stop. I’m not sleeping. I’m making mistakes, bad decisions.” She covered her eyes with her hands.
He leaned down next to her on the sofa and wrapped his arms around her. “This story is eating you up, isn’t it? Bringing back bad memories?”
“It’s the kids...the women...reminds me of Marishka. The other night when we were attacked and I saw Devon bleeding on the ground, I kept seeing Peter.” A tremor went through her body.
“I see ghosts when I close my eyes, too, baby.” He held her close and buried his face in her hair. “That’s the price we pay for surviving, I guess.”
She rolled within the circle of arms so that they were face to face. “I want to take a leave of absence when this story wraps up. I already talked to Marion—my boss—and he’s approved a three-month leave. That gives us the summer. Maybe we can take a vacation when you’re done with the institute…drive down to Santa Fe or California...has Dalton ever been to Disneyland? It’d be fun. We deserve some fun, I think. We can call it our Thank-God-We-Made-It-Tour.”
He could hardly believe his luck. Not only was he now on outpatient therapy and able to have a home of his own again, he would have three months of uninterrupted time to spend with his wife and son.
“Thank-God-We-Made-It-Tour, huh? I like it.” He touched the stitches above her eye. “I know I keep hurting you and I don’t mean to. I get so angry sometimes, so frustrated. I lash out. I know you wouldn’t intentionally hurt anyone.”
“Well, that’s not true.” She smoothed her hand over his shoulder. “I can’t wait to meet this Callie woman and her evil husband Byron.”
He laughed, unable to connect the dots in his brain that this reality was actually happening and not just a dream.
He combed his fingers through her hair. “Will this story be finished by our anniversary? It’s coming up. I think we should get married again, have a fresh start with all of this family around, what do you think?”
“I think you’re the most confusing man on earth and I’m seriously concerned about your mental stability.” Her palms flattened against his chest.
“We’ve had a strange first year of marriage, pretty rocky last few months, but of course I remember our anniversary. It was the happiest day of my life.” His thumb brushed away an unexpected tear from her cheek.
“This isn’t exactly the homecoming I wanted for you. I didn’t think we’d have FBI agents shadowing our every move.” She scooted closer to him.
There were so many things he wished he could erase, but knew he couldn’t. He indulged in the simplicity of lying on the sofa with his wife in his arms. He touched her face, his fingers skimming over the stitches above her eye.
“You’ve done so much for me, more than I ever expected,” he said. “I don’t deserve it.”
“You do.” She brushed her fingertips through his hair. “I love you so much.”
His heart swelled with the reality that she did truly love him, probably more than anyone in his life had ever loved him. A flash of her turning back into the line of fire that last day danced across his mind...messenger bag slapping against her hip, dirt darkening her face, screaming his name...and he had shut her out with all the power he’d had at his disposal. He’d spend the rest of his life trying to make that right.
“It got pretty ugly. I got pretty ugly…lost. You know first hand how nasty I can get these days.” His palms cupped the back of her head. “Now here I am. With you. In our home. I’ve gotten a second chance for a pretty great life.”
“It’s gonna be spectacular.” She grinned through the quiet tears.
“Damn straight.” He mirrored her grin.
“Promise me we won’t get boring. I want our kids to know how amazing we are.”
“Us? Boring? Doubtful.” He laughed as he kissed her.
He only hoped that he’d measure up, that he’d adapt better than he had so far and that he’d figure out what to do with himself now that he was simply Michael Cedars, civilian, husband and father.
Chapter Twenty-Three
She frowned at the phone after getting Devon’s voice mail for the third time that morning. Thick flakes of snow fell gently from the sky, not sticking to the ground. Heavy, wet spring snow. Dalton raced around the loft with Dude nipping at his ankles. The two of them to be the perfect combo for each other, a dastardly duo. She grinned when Gwen told him for the sixth time to stop sliding across the floors on his stocking feet.
She leaned her shoulder against the window, held the cell phone against her chest and blinked at the sky. From what Warren had said, Becky was still listed as critical condition but would be okay. She’d had a collapsed lung, broken ribs and a shattered leg. Looked like she’d be getting some physical therapy of her own when this was over. Nathan was in the clear and asking for visitors.
The black Mercedes across the street caught her attention. She knew it was the same one who’d been following her for days. Coldness seeped into her heart.
Early this morning she’d put together the story as she had it so for, cut some footage, pieced it all together, did a voice over in her office, copied all of her notes and uploaded what she had to the station for safe keeping. She also made several copies on flash drives that she’d hidden around the house in random spots. She simply didn’t trust much these days.
“We need to head home. Dalton has homework.” Miles gathered the plates from their lunch and walked into the kitchen. “So how does this outpatient status work? Do you stay at the institute all week and then come here on weekends?”
“No, I’ll be coming home every night,” Michael answered. “Hope thought it best if I kept the suite there, though, for resting in between physical therapy and my classes. She’s outlawed the blue sweats, though.”
She smiled without turning around. Yeah, he’d be coming home every night. She stared hard at the Mercedes, smile slipping.
“Will you give our best to Becky and Nathan?” Gwen’s hand closed over her forearm.
“Sure thing. I’ll keep you posted.” She turned her back on the window and grinned at her mother-in-law. “Hopefully, next weekend will be more laid back.”
“Do you really think the custody issue is a non-threat?” Gwen asked the question quietly enough that no one else could hear. Her eyes pierced into hers. “Are you certain?”
“Positive.” Although she hadn’t shared the information that Devon had discovered with Warren yet, seeing that he had other more pressing matters at the moment, she was absolutely certain that Callie would disappear once her scum-sucking new hubby was arrested by the feds. “Please trust me on this. I know you don’t really know me but—”
“We trust you.” Gwen squeezed her arm again. “As far as we’re concerned, you’re a miracle worker.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t go that far.” She looked away from Gwen and watched Michael move toward the door with Dalton on his lap. “Just...um...be safe, okay?”
“We will.”
“And don’t trust McGee...or anyone linked to me or Michael right now.” She hated sounding paranoid, but better safe than sorry at this point. “You take Dalton to and from school, right? Make sure Miles goes with you this week. Watch your rearview.”
Great first impression on the in-laws, she grimaced at Gwen’s odd look.
“Watch my rearview? Okay. I’ll try.” Gwen joined Miles at the door.
She sighed as she observed Michael running his hands through his hair. He looked like hell this morning. Pale. Shaking. Sweating. She squinted at his back when he opened the door and waited for his family to walk tow
ard the elevator.
“Alone. Again. At last,” he said when he finally shut the door.
“I need to go to the hospital, check on Becky. Are you up for a trip or do you need to rest? You’re not looking so hot.” She sat on the arm of the sofa and watched him moving toward her.
He hadn’t done his exercises in the two days he’d stayed with her. Becky would chew her out for that. As for not getting caught up in any shenanigans, well, she’d pretty much dragged him into the fray with her. Maybe that’s why he looked as exhausted as she felt.
“I’m not letting you out of my sight.” His grin looked weak.
Once again, she reminded herself what he’d been through over the past five months and that he’d been brought here before he’d been ready. She looked down at the silent cell phone cupped in her hands.
“Well, let’s both just hang out for awhile. No need to race off....” She thought of the Mercedes parked outside. “Becky probably doesn’t want visitors yet anyway and I’m sure Nathan is soaking up the attention. Warren said he has some buddies coming by this afternoon. I’m sure that will make him feel better. We don’t need to go.”
“A walk in the snow sounds nice,” he said quietly. “We could go out back along the river. I don’t suppose you have a winter coat stashed away for me, do you?”
“A sweatshirt will have to do. A walk sounds nice. Simple. We’ll take Dude.”
“Hockey’s on this afternoon.” His smile caught her off-guard, took her breath away. “Have I told you how happy I am to be here?”
“A couple of times, but say it every day.” Her answering smile trembled on her lips so she looked away. “Are you taking your medication? You look like all kinds of wrong.”
He didn’t answer, just moved himself from the chair to the sofa and sighed.
She couldn’t stop the drumbeat of doom in her heart. The sight of Angel’s face had been imprinted on her mind’s eye. She glanced at her silent cell phone.
“You’re worried about Devon?” he asked.
She chewed her lip before looking at him. He’d adjusted himself so that his legs stretched out in front of him on the cushions with his arm stretched casually along the back of the sofa. His shaggy brown hair looked like he’d run his hand through it a dozen times.