The Price of Valor

by Susan May Warren

  The man who’d crossed an ocean to find her. Who’d never stopped loving her.

  Oh, shoot. He’d gotten too far inside her heart because when he came back to her, kissing her, her entire body erupted in heat and panic and—

  No.

  No!

  His arms curled around her, but suddenly, she wasn’t in Ham’s warm bed, but in a tent, Pavel’s earthy smell pressing her down, his roughened hands on her body and—

  “No!”

  Ham moved off her so fast her body might have been electrified. He stared at her, his eyes wide, something stricken on his face. “Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head. Then nodded, pressing her hands over her eyes.

  “Signe?”

  “I thought . . .” Her breaths trembled out. “I thought I was ready. That I could . . .”

  He was silent for so long, she opened her eyes.

  Tears glistened on his cheeks, his jaw flexing so hard she thought he might break molars. “This is about Tsarnaev, isn’t it?”

  He did know her. Too well.

  She sat up, drew up her knees, locking her arms around them. Nodded.

  “I could kill him all over again.”

  “I thought . . . I mean, I want to, and I thought I was ready, but then, suddenly . . .” Tears burned down her cheeks. Oh! She’d turned into a sappy, uncontrollable mess around Ham.

  But maybe she wasn’t a spy anymore. Not here. Not now.

  “I could compartmentalize when I was with him. Tell myself it was part of my job. That it meant nothing.”

  “But it did mean something,” Ham said. “It meant you were being violated.”

  She looked away.

  “It’s too high,” Ham said quietly.

  “What is?”

  “The price you paid for your country.”

  She met his eyes. “I’m not dead. And I’m not wounded.”

  His gaze softened. “Yes, Shorty, you are.”

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “You just love me too much, Ham. It’s overwhelming and breathtaking and it scares me.” She looked away. “I can’t compartmentalize you.”

  “Good.”

  “Not good. Because what if I lose you? I’d lose myself too.”

  “You’re not going to lose me.”

  She paused. “I have to tell you something.”

  “Merry Christmas!” Aggie burst into the room, dragging her rabbit by one ear. “Santa was here!” She wore a flannel nightgown and now jumped on the bed between them.

  So. There went that moment. Ham sat up and caught her in his arms. “Really? Did he leave anything for you?”

  “A dollhouse! And a purse. And books!”

  “Oh my. He must really like you,” Ham said, looking over at Signe, winking.

  The man had gone completely overboard in his gift-buying for Aggie.

  It made her wonder what he would do for a son.

  Stop. That part of her life was over.

  “You go back to the presents, Aggie. Mama and I will be down soon.” Ham set her on the floor and she ran out the door.

  “You told her about Santa? Ham. She’s too old to believe—”

  “You’re never too old—hey—”

  She was getting up, but he touched her arm. “What?”

  “Santa left something for you too.” He reached over to his nightstand, opened the drawer with one hand, and pulled out a white box. “Merry Christmas.”

  Her eyes widened and she sat back down on the bed. He handed her the box.

  She opened it, and out fell a black velvet case. “Ham . . .”

  “Just open it.”

  No, no—but she opened the box, and sitting in the plush velvet was a wide, white gold ring, with a massive diamond in the center, flanked by two smaller diamonds. “Ham—”

  “The diamond was my mom’s. But I had it reset. And two more added on the sides.”

  “Ham—”

  “I should have gotten you a better one than that stupid cubic zirconia one in the Vegas gift shop—”

  “Ham.”

  He met her eyes, so much of his heart in them, she couldn’t breathe.

  “I can’t. I can’t accept this.”

  “What?”

  Ham got up, and for a second, she thought he was walking out of her life.

  Instead, he shut the door. Turned to her. “What are you talking about?”

  She closed her eyes. Calm down. Breathe. She opened her eyes. “Ham. Pavel Tsarnaev is still alive.”

  He stared at her. Then, “Okay, so that was not what I thought you were going to say.” He paused. “How do you know?”

  “I was tracking his checking account, and there’s been withdrawals.”

  “That doesn’t mean it was him,” he said. “His identity could have been stolen.” He ran a hand across his mouth. “Okay, so I confess, I called the coroner in Italy after Aggie’s dream.”

  “You did?”

  “It was sort of freaking me out too. But he said that the facial reconstruction on the face matched Tsarnaev’s, so . . .”

  “No, Ham. His brother was on board too, so it could’ve been him.”

  Ham leaned forward and took her hand. “Tsarnaev’s dead, Signe. And you’re home. And it’s Christmas morning.” He took the ring out of the box. “Marry me again. I’ve waited ten years—no, fifteen—to have you back in my life. I know you have scars and fears, but if you let me, I’d like to stick around and help heal them.”

  She pressed her hand to her mouth.

  “Shorty, I love you.”

  “You scare me to death.”

  “Again, not really what I thought you were going to say, but if you wear my ring, I’ll promise to try not to.”

  “What am I going to do with you?”

  “I have a few ideas. But they can wait until you’re ready.” He winked, and she pushed him off the bed, onto the floor. He was climbing to his feet, laughing when she put the ring on her finger.

  But six hours later, after the wrapping paper, after Aggie’s overload of gifts, Ham’s words still hung in Signe’s brain. “He’s dead.”

  Oh, she hoped so.

  But if he wasn’t, she was going to find him.

  And this time, she’d finish what she started.

  Don’t look at the ring.

  Just . . . aw, Jenny’s stupid gaze was riveted on Signe’s galactic-sized diamond ring as Signe played with her sweet potatoes and ham.

  Like she had lost her appetite. Or maybe she simply couldn’t lift her hand to her mouth—

  Stop.

  “Jenny.” Aria’s voice, her foot kicking into her shin, tore her focus back to the conversation.

  To Ham, who was talking through the details of the inaugural ball they’d been invited to.

  Except, all the eyes were on her and she put her fork down.

  “What?”

  “Orion asked if you could pass the salt,” Aria said, sotto voce.

  Oh. She grabbed the salt and sent it down the table to Orion.

  “No problem,” Orion said, not looking at her.

  Oh, she was so done with this. So done with hoping that he’d call. So done with replaying the rooftop scene in Italy in her head, believing that somehow they might get beyond her past.

  She needed to move on.

  Put Orion out of her heart.

  Outside, snow fell against the windows, and the lake had iced over. He’d made a fire in the pit for Aggie tonight and they’d roasted marshmallows.

  She should have gone to the Marshalls’ for Christmas like she did every year, but no, she had to accept Ham’s invitation to spend Christmas with him.

  Because her stupid heart had hoped that Orion might be here.

  Move. On.

  “So, is this thing a tuxedo event?” Orion was asking.

  “Really? Yes. And the girls should wear gowns,” Ham said.

  Aria met her gaze from across the table. Frankly, Jenny expected Aria to be the one sporting
a ring this Christmas.

  “I probably need to get home,” Jenny said. “The weather is getting dicey.”

  She wasn’t running. Not. At. All.

  Signe got up with her. “I need to check on Aggie.” She’d gone to bed earlier with a tummy ache, which Ham attributed to too much chocolate Santa.

  “Thank you for dinner, Ham,” Jenny said and brought her plate into the kitchen.

  “You’re a psychologist, right?” Signe had followed her in. “Can I talk to you?” Signe wore a sexy black dress and looked every inch the kind of international spy Jenny saw in the movies. She’d often wondered about Signe’s life, and especially her skills, after seeing her take down Orion at Thanksgiving.

  Yeah, that made her smile.

  Bad Jenny.

  “Is Aggie having trouble?”

  “No. Actually . . .” Signe glanced over her shoulder toward Ham.

  Oh. A girl talk. “Come into my office,” Jenny said and headed down the hall. She stepped into Ham’s guest bathroom and Signe followed her in.

  Jenny shut the door. Locked it. “Would you like a seat?” She pointed to the toilet.

  Signe smiled. “This will do.” She sat on the edge of the tub and took off her heels, rubbed her feet.

  “I was wondering if and when we’d have a real chat,” Jenny said. “Ham brought me to Italy because he thought—”

  “I’d be traumatized?”

  “He didn’t know,” Jenny said. “He feared the worst, maybe.”

  “I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I joined the agency,” Signe said. “That was probably for the best.”

  Jenny sat down on the commode. “I had the same thought when I worked for them.”

  Signe raised her eyebrows.

  “I was a profiler, in Afghanistan.”

  “Right. Did you have trouble . . . I don’t know how to say it . . . settling in, after you returned?”

  “That’s an understatement. I actually had a nervous breakdown after sending a bunch of SEALs into an ambush. Ham was one of them. And Orion was the PJ sent in to rescue the wounded. He ended up getting his knee blown out. So, I settled right into a psychiatric hospital.” Maybe that was too much information, but she wasn’t ashamed of it. Not anymore. “Everyone goes through stress coming home. No one realizes it—they think you should be glad to be home, but—”

  “No, that’s not it.” Signe wasn’t looking at her, her voice quiet.

  Jenny knew when to stop talking.

  Silence, while Signe breathed. Then, “I was raped while I was overseas.”

  Oh.

  “I mean, of course I was—I was in a terrorist camp. But then . . .” She looked at Jenny. “In order to keep my cover—and really, to protect Aggie—I married him.”

  “You married your rapist.” And just in the nick of time, Jenny changed her tone, so it came out as a statement. “I see.”

  “I told myself it was part of the job and I got very good at . . . well, not letting my heart engage in the marriage.”

  Jenny nodded.

  “I think I simply tried to forget about the human part of marriage—love, family—and just told myself that I was doing something for the good of my country.”

  “Something that took pieces out of your soul, little by little.”

  “For ten years.” She looked up at Jenny. “I stopped feeling. And then I couldn’t get hurt, see?”

  Jenny understood better than she wanted to admit.

  “And then along came Ham.”

  “Ham. Yes. He’s a force.”

  Signe met her eyes. “You have no idea. The man is like a fire hose with his love and forgiveness, and frankly, it’s like I’m drowning. I want to open my heart to him, but . . . it’s not pretty in there. I mean, there are a lot of scars and wounds and I just don’t know if I have it in me to . . . to . . .”

  “To receive grace?”

  Signe stilled. “I wrecked everything. We had something, and I ran from it. I did this to us. And now I’m . . .”

  “Dirty.” Jenny could hardly say the word herself.

  Signe nodded. “I’m trying to unlock my heart, but I think I’ve lost the key. And I don’t know how to let him in. I don’t know how to love him like a wife.”

  Jenny looked at her. “Signe. Are you thinking of leaving Ham?”

  Signe was spinning the ring on her finger. “I’m afraid that Tsarnaev is alive. And if he is, he will come after me. I can’t let Aggie get caught in the crossfire. Or Ham.”

  “Signe, this isn’t about Aggie or Ham.”

  She looked up at Jenny.

  “This is about you. And being ashamed. And letting that shame tell you who you are.” She leaned forward. “Signe. Let’s flip the tables. Let’s say that I did something shameful. What would you say to me?”

  “I guess it would depend on what it was.”

  “Would it? Because guilt is about something you’ve done. But shame is about who you are. At your core. And that’s the real problem. This isn’t about your actions. It’s about who you believe you are. And who you believe you are is not because of what happened out in the field. What happened in the field happened because of who you believe you are.”

  She leaned forward. “At some point in your life, someone told you that you weren’t worth protecting. Weren’t really worth loving. And you believed them. And because of that, you went out and tried to prove that you were. Which, in your case, meant joining the CIA and becoming a superspy.”

  “I’m hardly a superspy,” Signe said.

  “I saw your mad skills.” She pointed at Signe’s heart. “You need to fix what you believe in there before you’ll figure out how to deal with what is in here.” She pointed to Signe’s head.

  “How do I do that?”

  “You start listening to the truth. Ham, your friends, and, if you want, God. Because clearly he brought you back to the starting place. Maybe that’s because he wants you to take another look at what he has for you.” She made a face. “Not trying to tell you what to do, but I’m thinking that maybe it doesn’t involve running away.”

  Signe smiled.

  Jenny met it. “I think maybe I need to listen to my own advice. I’ve been running away for too long from what I think Orion believes about me. I’m going to just go ask him.”

  “Really? Okay. Well good then. I’m glad we could have this little chat.”

  “Thanks, doc,” Jenny said.

  Signe laughed and Jenny opened the door. Came out to the great room and noticed everyone had gotten up from the table. She heard voices in the kitchen and headed there. Yes, she’d simply pull Orion aside and confront him. And maybe it was over between them. But at least they could both move on.

  Or not. Because as she came into the kitchen, she found Aria and Jake in a clench. “Oh, sorry!”

  Aria looked over Jake’s shoulder, then pushed him away. “We’re doing dishes.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Where’s Ham?” This from Signe, behind her.

  “He went to check on Aggie,” Jake answered.

  “Where’s Orion?” Jenny asked.

  “He left right after you did. I thought it was to catch you.” Jake shook his head. “That idiot. He just needs to get it over with.”

  Jenny’s breath caught as Jake’s words settled in. “No, no he doesn’t. You can tell him that it’s already over.”

  Jake frowned.

  “I have to get home before the blizzard hits.”

  “Be careful, Jen,” Aria said. “It’s getting slippery out.”

  It was way past cold and into freezing as she left the house. Tiny granules of ice pinged on her window, layering it, and she sat in the car for a moment, letting it heat up, blowing on her hands, her conversation with Signe pinging back to her. “Guilt is about something you’ve done. But shame is about who you are.”

  Just like that, Harley was in her head.

  “Have you asked for forgiveness?”

  “To
o many times to count.”

  “Once is enough. Leave it behind. He has.”

  Her breath gusted out in a cloud, and she turned on the defrost. The ice on her windshield began to melt.

  So all that was left, then, was the shame.

  She turned the car around and pulled out of Ham’s long driveway, onto the unplowed street. She could make out tire tracks, just barely, in front of her, and followed them out to another street. Flurries scattered in front of her headlights and they barely cut through the darkness. She edged out, heading down the hill toward the next road.

  “It’s in suffering—as well as joy—that we find our faith. In times of trouble, we either draw near, or we run.”

  Lights came at her from the other direction, blinding her. Aware that she was taking up the entire road, she slammed on her brakes.

  Her car swerved, spun.

  She careened into the ditch on her side of the road.

  Snow puffed up, covered her car. Thankfully, her airbag didn’t deploy, but she sat there, stunned, immobilized by the seat belt.

  Unhurt but clearly derailed.

  Stuck.

  Nice, Jenny.

  She put the car into reverse. Her tires spun, revving hard, kicking up snow.

  Perfect. Now she could stay in the ditch and freeze. She closed her eyes.

  “And if we run?”

  “Then God chases after us. That’s the thing about God. We might give up on him, but he never gives up on us.”

  Yeah, well, she certainly hoped he was in the neighborhood, because she wasn’t getting out of the ditch without help.

  The other car had slowed as it passed her, and she was unbuckling to check out how bad she was stuck before she called Ham for help when a knock came at her window.

  She slid the window down.

  She could nearly hear God laugh in the wind as Orion leaned in, snow in his hair, glistening on his eyelashes, looking fresh out of Alaska. “Need some help?”

  “God doesn’t write tragedies. He’s all about the happy ending. We just have to stick with him through the story, right?”

  “Get in, hero. We need to talk.”

  Orion paused, swallowed, then quietly, he opened her door. “Let’s get in my car, where it’s warm.”

  He held out his hand, and Jenny put hers into it, let Orion help her to his Renegade.

  The heat blared full blast.

  “We should go back to Ham’s house and get a tow rope,” Orion said. He still wouldn’t look at her.