“They’ll be waiting, probably, to shoot anyone who goes out that door,” he said. “C’mon, Hope. We need to take the lead.”
She blinked away the lightheadedness that battled for control. She didn’t have much left to give and knew it. But for him, she’d give it all she had until the bitter end. With a nod, she turned with him, working as his left leg, knowing that he knew best in this situation.
“Devon,” she managed to say, “camera in my jacket. Get it.”
Devon paused only for a second, her gaze meeting hers as she unzipped the leather jacket and undid the hidden camera that she’d placed inside the other night. “You’re gonna be okay, Hope.”
“Take it.” She looked away from her friend’s gaze.
No matter how this played out, she wasn’t going to let these bastards win. She’d document what she had...even if she didn’t live to see it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Every inch of his body screamed in protest. He leaned heavily on Hope, needing her support even though he knew adrenaline alone kept her upright.
“I’m here, too, Colonel. Tell me what you need.” Marshall stood at his right side, using his T-shirt to shield the bottom half of his face from the smoke.
“Me, too. Whatever you need, Colonel.” Devon looped Hope’s forgotten bag around her torso and pressed a hand over her mouth.
He nodded, aware that he’d been thrust into the role of leader of this disjointed group of walking wounded. “I know McGee. He doesn’t underestimate me, I know that. I saw it in his face. Force open the door, I’ll drop down and keep them busy while you rush the women to safety. Move fast, don’t look back for us.”
Devon’s gaze flicked toward Hope, but she nodded in acceptance that they’d stay together. “You sure you can handle this?”
“Do I have a choice?” He glanced toward the top of Hope’s head, heard the horrible wheezing sound and gritted his teeth. “You know the plan, not too complicated, let’s go.”
He and Hope moved as one to the door. Marshall pushed it open.
Flames licked their feet and smoke rolled over them, but Hope didn’t falter. She held onto him with both arms around his waist, taking his weight without question, her face buried against his side.
He held the gun firm, eyes squinting through the smoke as bullets began flying in their direction. He heard rather than saw Marshall and Devon pushing the women out the door. He fired the gun with innate accuracy; hitting the man who’d smacked his wife around before training his gaze on McGee who’d darted behind a tree.
“Hope.” Devon hesitated.
“Stick to the plan,” he said without looking in her direction. “Run. Now.”
They needed to get out of the fire, but right now the smoke served as an excellent screen for them. He scanned the outside. One man down, McGee behind a tree, the other man was either out of sight or long gone. He had no idea what he was up against. A truck sat about twenty feet away.
So far they’d only managed to move about an inch at a time so making a run for it was an absurd idea.
Hope squeezed his waist and looked up at him, face stained with dirt. “I can get you to the truck,” she said with more strength than she’d had a minute ago. “We can get there.”
“Too far.” A bullet ricocheted off the metal door. Flames licked up the sides of the building, smoke stung their eyes and rolled around them.
“Like you said...I’ve done it before.” She grinned then even though tears shimmered in her eyes. “I have the strength of...a thousand men. Your words, remember?”
He took a minute to drop his hand over her face before nodding. “Let’s do it then. You focus on getting me there. I’ll keep McGee busy.”
“On the count of three,” she said before coughing. “One. Two. Three.”
They moved through the fire, heat licking at their skin. He aimed at the tree where McGee hid and fired over and over again. She half-dragged, half-carried him in a crazy version of a three-legged race until finally falling away from him in a heap against the snow behind the truck. He fell, too, landing on top of her. She didn’t move from beneath him.
Bullets pierced the metal of the truck, shattered a window that showered them with glass. He heard running footsteps, recognized the boots as McGee’s.
He reached into his back pocket for the additional ammunition he’d brought, just in case, and reloaded without taking his gaze from the movements of those boots.
One hand on the back of Hope’s head keeping her down, he shifted to fully cover her body with his while keeping the gun firmly in his right hand.
“I never wanted it to come to this, Colonel,” McGee said.
The building behind them crackled and moaned as the fire engulfed it. Sirens splintered through the mountain air. Snow fell steadily with big flakes on the trees. Screams from the saved women filtered to him through it all, reminding him why Hope had risked so much to save them, to bring them justice.
“You could have done more with your life. You didn’t need to resort to this.”
McGee stepped around the front of the jeep, gun trained on them, determination on his face.
Michael shot him between the eyes.
McGee fell, face forward in the snow, and landed only inches from Hope’s outstretched hand.
“FBI.” Wulf appeared from the edge of the trees with his team.
Too late. Michael stared at his friend’s fallen form before sliding from Hope’s body. He dropped the gun and rested the back of his head against at tire.
“It’s over, Hope. You did it.”
No response.
He looked down at her. Unmoving. She laid in the snow, arms outstretched in odd directions from her body, head twisted at an angle, red braid tangled in the collar of her leather jacket, eyes closed.
Now he understood what McGee had said about him deserving payback for when she’d watched him die in the helicopter a world away. At that moment, everything moved in slow motion. He pushed against her shoulder, begging her to wake up, but her head just lobbed backward. Devon and Marshall ran to them. Slow motion in his mind. Wulf skidded to a stop next to her body, asking him questions he couldn’t understand over the static roaring in his brain.
He shook her shoulders, willing her to open her eyes. He’d seen many men die, but the sight of Hope unmoving with snowflakes on her eyelids and in her hair crippled him more than any ghost or any injury ever could.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
He’d been to too many funerals in his lifetime, but McGee’s had been the hardest. He’d remained in the back--guilty as the man who’d shot him and angry for what McGee had cost them all. He had needed to be there, though. He’d gone with his father, ignoring the advice of everyone around him. After all he’d lost, he’d finally figured out he could stand on his own, even it was more metaphorical at this point.
He looked down at his dress blues and ran his fingers across the medals at his chest. Hope had always loved the pictures of him wearing his US Marine Corps dress blues, yet had never seen him in them live and in person. It had always been fatigues, jeans or those damn blue sweats. Even their wedding day had been extremely casual. He cringed at the memory...trying not to think of the people who had stood with them that day who no longer existed...only a year ago. Who would have known then that twelve months would be filled with so much loss?
“It’s time,” his father said from the doorway.
With a nod in his direction, he maneuvered the chair to follow him from the room. With every roll of the chair, he thought of the journey to get here. Byron Gannon was behind bars, but not after many casualties had fallen in his wake. The bust had caught several other state senators and, yes, the mayor of Denver, thanks to Rourke and Angel’s sacrifice. Becky...Hope...so many had sacrificed for that story, but now it was all wrapped up nice and neat, as Hope would say.
Not so neat.
He paused at the sight of the flowers drifting in the breeze. It was like a firework display of color
and aroma. Family gathered in white chairs beneath swaying trees and surrounded by bushes erupting with every color under the sun. He inhaled the scent of spring in Colorado.
“Are you ready for this?” his father asked, eyes filled with unexpected tears.
“Maybe I should be asking you that,” he said. There had been too much sadness in this family. Time for some joy. “C’mon, it’s not every day your son gets remarried to his hellion of a wife.”
He winked at Dalton who’d run up to him with a grin that erased any lingering sorrow. Dressed in a suit and tie, his son looked like a young man and the sight reminded him that he had a lot of lost time to make up for and years ahead of him to do it.
“It’s gonna rain, I just know it,” Dalton said with a breathless laugh.
“Don’t let Hope hear you say that,” he said.
“You look cool,” Dalton said.
“Yeah, you do look pretty cool,” Becky agreed as she stepped up behind him, navigating crutches. “C’mon, Colonel, Hope’s antsy at getting this over with and moving on to the party. She thinks it’s going to rain. She sent me here to see if you were still showing up. I think she has some trust issues, not that I blame her.”
“Yep, those family dinners are going to be a blast. Can’t wait. Aren’t you supposed to be with her? Go. Tell her I’m the one who’s waiting for her this time.” He waved to Marshall who stood at the end of the sidewalk.
The Botanical Gardens had been Hope’s idea for their vow renewal. She liked the idea of being outside surrounded by flowers for their new beginning as man and wife. He had to admit she had some good ideas from time to time. What had she said? Something about it being tame compared to their first wedding. He laughed when he heard thunder roll in the distance.
* * * *
Why had she agreed to this? They’d taken advantage of her drug-induced state at the hospital and tricked her into arranging a big vow renewal. She smoothed her hands over the hips of the same dress she’d worn in Greece. Unlike Michael, she wanted some similarities to that day. The only difference is that today she wore shoes and a yellow shawl that wrapped around her shoulders. Her gaze drifted to her eyes in the reflection of the mirror. Well, maybe there were other differences, too.
Her hands moved over the hair Becky had bound into a loose knot at the nape of her neck and grinned as her fingers drifted across the gold necklace at her neck with a diamond encrusted infinity symbol at its center. Somehow Michael had found this in the chaotic two weeks since the shooting and had had Devon deliver it to her minutes ago. For an unromantic, stubborn jerk, the man had surprises that brought her to her knees at the most unexpected moments.
“I told you we’d have a party on your anniversary,” Devon said from where she leaned against the wall, a wistful smile on her face. “You doubted me, I know it.”
“Yeah, maybe I did.” Facing the mirror, she met Devon’s gaze in the glass and grinned. Recovery from being shot had been longer than she’d anticipated. Out of the hospital only a few days, she had no idea what to expect at her own party. “Do I look okay? Not too patient-like?”
It had been touch and go for days. She’d lost a lot of blood and had endured an extensive surgery. The story had aired without her, but she didn’t care. They’d taken down the bad guys...or at least helped the Feds do so. She turned and looked at her friend. Dressed in a yellow dress that skimmed her knees and with her black hair swept away from her face, Devon looked unscathed from their adventure.
“You look beautiful, stunning, not patient-like at all.” Devon looked away and brushed a silent tear from her face.
“Stop looking at me like that, this is supposed to be a fun day, a new beginning and all of that. No more tears.”
“The Colonel is waiting,” Becky said from where she stood in the doorway dressed exactly like Devon, except for the crutches.
“He can handle it.” She looked down at her bouquet of white roses. “We weren’t quite so formal the first time around.”
Ignoring what the other two women said, she walked toward the exit and looked out at the darkening sky. Peter, Sally, McGee...she felt as if they were all there again, just like they had been the first time. With every step she took behind the two women dressed in yellow, she fought back tears.
No more crying. No more sadness.
Then she saw him waiting in the garden and stopped to catch her breath. Flanked by Dalton, Miles and Marshall, Michael looked every bit the hero as waited in his wheelchair dressed in his US Marine Corps officer uniform.
To hell with this formal walking slow to the music business. She struck a pose, arms at her sides, roses dropping to the ground and smiled because she knew that was exactly what he wanted her to do. Kicking off her heels, she twirled for his eyes only before breaking into a series of ballet like moves until she reached his side.
Ignoring everyone else, she curled her hands into the front of his uniform and looked down at him. “You are one hot Marine and you’re all mine.”
“You know it.” He winked. “Are you sure you want to marry me again? Last chance to change your mind.”
“I won.” She kissed him lightly on the lips without breaking eye contact. “I got my husband back.”
“You never really lost me,” he whispered against her mouth.
“Let me have my moment. I’m celebrating a win here.”
She couldn’t believe how handsome he was in his uniform, how much they’d survived together, how far they’d come. As she repeated the vows again in front of the judge, she fought the urge to laugh at the sky. They’d made it; they’d really made it home.
When the first raindrops began to fall and thunder cracked above their heads, she looked down and met his gaze. Sinking into his lap, she linked her hands around his neck and laughed against his skin.
“You’re not exactly following the program here, you know. Running past your bridesmaids, sitting on my lap in the middle of the service, what will people think?” He laughed, too. His hands curved over her hips. “You’re more gorgeous now than you were a year ago in Greece, how is that possible?”
“I’m like a fine wine, I get better with age.” She leaned her forehead against his. Who cared about protocol or an audience with a gorgeous man like this marrying her for the second time? She smoothed her thumb across the scar on his forehead and grinned. The heat from their skin contrasted with the cool rain trickling over them.
Ka-boom. Lightning danced through the sky. Thunder cracked. When the rain went from sprinkle to downpour, everyone around them yelled and ran toward the party tent. She tightened her arms around his neck, loving the feel of his medals pressing against her shoulder.
“We’re going to be soaked,” he said against her lips.
“Do you care?” She licked the rain from his mouth.
“Not even a little bit. Bring on the rain. We made it home, babe.”
“Yeah, we did. We really did.” She smiled against his face, ignoring Becky shouting at them to get beneath the party tent. “And you married me twice...smart man.”
“Lucky man.”
A gust of wind blew several chairs over and drowned out the shouting of their guests who demanded they retreat to the tent. Laughing, they kissed, tongues teasing each other with promises of things to come.
“Dad...mom...we’re getting really wet.” They broke apart and noticed that Dalton had stayed by their side, his suit now soaking wet and hair drooping over his eyes. “Everybody’s yelling at us.”
“Come on,” Michael grabbed his son and perched him on their laps. “We need to learn to behave,” he whispered against her ear.
“No, you don’t,” Dalton said, a familiar gleam in his eyes that reminded her exactly of his dad’s. “I’m not a baby, you know. I know stuff.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” Michael asked with a wink in her direction.
“Well, we’d better get you out of the rain.” She squeezed her stepson’s hand, unable to believe how lucky she was.
&n
bsp; “We can handle a little rain,” Dalton said with his toothless grin as he looked up at his dad. “Right, dad? It’s kind of fun.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of fun, isn’t it?” she asked.
“God help us all,” he said.
With wife and child on his lap, he maneuvered the chair toward the tent even as Devon raced out to help them with the wind plastering her skirt to her thighs.
Hope tilted her head back and laughed at the storm clouds. Yeah, they’d made it home. Finally. Let it rain.
THE END
http://www.amberleaeaston.com
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Although this is a romantic suspense novel about two fictional characters, Hope and Michael, whose love story took center stage, two important issues were touched upon: post traumatic stress disorder for our veterans and human trafficking.
To find out more about PTSD in veterans, please visit http://www.ptsd.va.gov/
To discover more about human trafficking within the USA, please visit http://www.combathumantrafficking.org.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Amber Lea Easton is a multi-published fiction and nonfiction author. For twenty years, she's worked in the fields of journalism and marketing.
Smart is sexy, according to Easton, which is why she writes about strong female characters who have their flaws and challenges but ultimately persevere. She currently has three romantic suspense novels out in the world, Reckless Endangerment, Riptide, and Kiss Me Slowly, with one more slated for publication in 2013.
Find out more about Amber Lea Easton at http://www.amberleaeaston.com or follow her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/AuthorAmberLeaEaston.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgement
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten