Or, at least, putting her in power after the untimely death of the president.
But she wasn’t going anywhere—not with her face on the world screen as she prepared to make yet another appearance at the Liberty Ball at the Washington Convention Center, this time with the president in attendance.
Surprise, surprise—he wasn’t assassinated by a rogue CIA bomber.
“There,” Signe said, looking over the shoulder of another security officer, badge name Erredge. “He’s headed down 14th, away from the Patriot.”
“Get me a map,” Ham said, but the first officer had already brought it up.
“If he’s headed down 14th, he might be going to the Marriott,” Ham said.
The door closed behind him and Ford had come in. “The JW Marriott?” He reached into his pocket. “Sorry. We took this off Martin.” He handed him a key card. “It’s from the Marriott.”
And bingo, Ham knew in his bones, it wasn’t a coincidence.
Signe looked at him, the same expression in her eyes. “Let’s go.”
He turned to Ford. “Get ahold of Logan and ask the Secret Service to meet us there.”
“Yes, sir.”
Yes, someday he wanted Ford on his team.
Ham followed Signe through the door.
They didn’t even bother to get an Uber, the air crisp and bright as they ran down the street, coatless. Just two blocks, and he wasn’t even breathing hard when they hit the lobby of the Marriott.
He grabbed Signe’s arm, however, before they reached the desk. “We have no weapons, no identification. How are we going to get in?”
“Who says we have no identification?” She pulled a dark red passport out of her pocket. “I brought it along, just in case.”
He looked at her. “Research.”
“Hunch. Stay here. And give me the key.”
He handed it to her, and she walked up to the desk, to a young woman.
“Hello. My husband asked me to meet him here. I have a key but no room number. Can you direct me?” She affected a slight accent, pulled out the key card, and opened her identification.
The woman swiped her card, checked her passport, and put the key in a new envelope, writing the number on the cover. “It’s a suite, but this card will get you into both rooms.”
“Can I get a copy? You know how it is—they’re so easy to lose.”
The woman coded another card and slipped it into the envelope.
“Thank you.”
She headed toward the elevator bank.
Ham followed her, stood behind her, and said nothing until they got inside.
She pushed the button for the eighth floor. Stood back. Breathed.
He faced her. “We should wait for the Secret Service, Sig.”
“No. We need to surprise him. If we wait, he could take Ruslan hostage and hurt him.” She flexed a muscle in her jaw.
Well, she knew this man better than he did. And no, Ham didn’t want to think about that, but in this case— “What’s the best way to do this?”
“I’m going to just go in.”
What? “Sig. What if he has an army in there?”
“He doesn’t. It’s just him. He never lets his men stay in the room with him. Just in case he wants company.”
Ham’s mouth tightened. “No. Have you lost your mind? No way am I letting you near this monster.”
“I’ll go in, distract him, and you get Ruslan.”
“Ho-kay, listen, I know you took down Orion, but this man—”
“Hurt me, attacked me, and terrorized me for years.” Her eyes darkened. “It’s my turn.”
She scared him a little.
No, a lot.
The elevator dinged and she shot him a look. “My way.”
“What if he has a gun?”
“Yeah, well, me too.” She reached behind her and pulled a gun from her belt, under her shirt.
And maybe he should have seen that, but it was dark and she was wearing a bulky, flannel shirt and—
No, he just didn’t expect it. Again. “Where did you get that?”
“Erredge. The security officer.”
“Signe—”
“Ham. Listen. I’m not going to shoot him. I’m just going to keep him away from Ruslan.” She touched Ham’s chest, put a foot in the door of the elevator to keep it from closing. “Let’s rescue my son.”
And what was he going to do with that?
He nodded and they headed down the hall.
She handed him a key card. “Go into the other room a second after me.”
How he hated it when he wasn’t in charge.
He positioned himself at the far door.
She slid the card into the door, hid the gun behind her back.
The door clicked, opened.
He dropped the key card into his door.
She disappeared inside.
His door clicked.
He opened it.
Tsarnaev—or who he assumed was the terrorist—sat on the bed staring at the television. He banged to his feet.
Ham crossed the room in two steps, grabbed him by the throat, and threw him onto the floor.
Apparently, he’d gotten the lucky room.
Tsarnaev swore at him but Ham had him down, his arm across his neck, his other in an arm bar.
Well, that was easy—
“Ham, back away from him.”
Signe stood near the door, the gun aimed at Tsarnaev.
“Shorty, what are you doing?”
She wasn’t shaking, her breaths were even, and she didn’t look in the least rattled.
Oh no, no—
“Signe—”
“I’m not going to let him go to trial, sit in prison, let him stir up more hate in our American prisons. He needs to die—”
“Sig, listen.” Ham got up, pinning Tsarnaev down with a foot in his neck, still holding his arm. “I get it. I do. But this isn’t you. You’re a mom. And a patriot. And a warrior. And smart and beautiful. But you’re not a killer.”
“Yes, she is,” Tsarnaev said, smiling. “She tried to kill me.”
“Too bad I didn’t succeed.”
“No, she’s not,” Ham said. “I should know.” He met her eyes. “Because I’m her husband.”
She drew in a shaky breath, and her eyes glistened.
“Mama?”
The voice came from behind her, and Signe turned to follow it. Put the gun down.
A little boy had emerged from the bathroom and now stood in the room in a pair of pajamas, a Thor T-shirt. Brown hair, slight build.
Ruslan.
With a roar, Tsarnaev turned, grabbed Ham’s ankle, and kicked him in the knee.
Ham caught himself on the dresser, but Tsarnaev had scrambled to his feet.
Tsarnaev picked up the lamp and threw it at Ham.
And that was just it.
Ham deflected the lamp, took two steps, and slammed his fist into Tsarnaev’s distorted face. He howled, and Ham sent him to the ground with a cross punch.
Tsarnaev hit his knees and Ham grabbed him around the neck, threw him down, slammed his foot into his spine, and held him there.
“Toss me that gun, Sig,” he said.
Her eyes widened, but she obeyed. He caught it, made sure a round was chambered, and pointed it at Tsarnaev’s head. “Maybe I should have let her shoot you, but I promise, you get up and I will.”
Signe had her arms around Ruslan, holding him to herself. His eyes were wide as he looked at Ham.
Cute kid. Reminded him of Aggie a little.
Of course he did. He was Signe’s son.
And maybe in time, his son too.
On the television, the Yankee Belles had just finished their song, the cameras panning to the stage wings for Vice President Jackson’s entrance.
Instead, Ham caught sight of President White. And behind him, Royal Benjamin.
He sure hoped Orion was watching.
The door banged open and Logan Thorne and a cadre
of Secret Service agents charged into the room.
Ham let them have Tsarnaev and walked over to Signe. Put his arms around her.
“Would you really have shot him?” she asked.
“Would you?”
She smiled at him. “A girl has to have her secrets.”
Epilogue
THE PERFECT DAY FOR A WEDDING. The clouds hung high, the air crisp, and a flock of birds had just returned to the budding maple and oak trees around the Marshall family winery. The late-afternoon sun poured through the eyelet curtains of the second-floor double bedroom.
Okay, not quite a wedding, but a re-wedding. The kind of wedding that Ham had always wanted.
After fifteen years, Signe called it a vow renewal. But she felt like a bride the way Mama J—as Jenny Calhoun called her—had fixed her hair.
Signe wore a white dress, which she wanted to protest, but maybe they were starting over. Besides, she was giving him a brand-new heart. One without the scars and wounds.
One that God had healed when Ham asked her if he could adopt her son.
God had brought her back to the beginning, to her silly dreams of belonging to Ham.
And he belonged to her, right back.
“You’re gorgeous,” Jenny said. “Ham is going to flip.”
It wasn’t a fancy dress, just to her ankles, and she wore a pair of white Uggs, thanks to the snow still patchy in the yard. The dress had long lacy sleeves, and she wore her hair down, curled, just the way Ham liked it.
Jenny had put her hands on her shoulders and looked at her through the mirror, and now Signe noticed the ring.
She took Jenny’s hand, sizing up the diamond in the simple setting. “He proposed?”
“Again, yes. Last night at the same pizza joint. You’d think he wouldn’t want to be seen there again, but Orion likes to fix the past, so . . . yeah.”
“Fancy.”
“He’s just trying to keep up with your boy,” Jenny said.
“And then some,” Signe said. She liked Jenny. They shared similar experiences.
Similar PTSD.
In fact, she liked his entire team.
They’d stood beside her over the past two months as she testified before Congress about her experiences with former vice president Jackson.
Orion and Ham had joined her in the Oval Office when Isaac White presented her with the National Intelligence Medal for Valor.
Ham and Orion each received the Presidential Medal of Freedom.
Pavel Tsarnaev’s trial was still months ahead, but she’d given her sworn testimony.
The time for mourning was over. It was time for joy.
And when Ham suggested heading out to the Marshall winery to renew their vows . . . well, she’d do anything for the crazy romantic in Ham.
“I think he’s ready for you,” Mama J said, poking her head into the room. “Your daughter and son are adorable.”
Yes, they were. Aggie was the perfect older sister to a brother who needed time and attention. She’d given him almost all of her zoo—keeping back the unicorn and the fuzzy rabbit—and Ham had converted the third bedroom into a room for a little boy, complete with superheroes on the wall, too many Lego sets, and enough sports equipment to turn the kid into a running back for the Minnesota Vikings.
More, Ham was the perfect father, making up for every moment his stepmother had wounded him.
She couldn’t wait to re-marry this man.
Jenny handed her a bouquet of lilies, and Signe followed her down the stairs.
The winery hosted tastings and weddings in a small portico area, and now, despite the chill in the air and the twilight hour, twinkle lights lit up the area. Massive heaters lined the outside of the portico. Their friends stood around Ham—Jake and Aria, Orion, his teammate North, who she remembered from Chechnya, Scarlett, and Mr. and Mrs. Marshall.
Ham wore a gray suit, slicked up and handsome, his hair freshly cut. Oh, the man did every look well.
He had one hand on Aggie’s shoulder, the other on Ruslan’s. Her son wore a matching suit, his dark hair wet and combed back. Aggie wore a pretty pink dress, a girlie-girl down to her bones. Signe hadn’t a clue where she got that, but Ham pampered his daughter like a man smitten.
Signe walked into the center of the circle and it closed around her, Jenny taking Orion’s hand.
Ham held out his hands, his eyes in hers. “Hey, Shorty. Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for the invite, Hamburglar.”
A chuckle went through the circle. Signe handed her bouquet of lilies to Aggie, who beamed at her.
Ham ran his thumbs over the tops of her hands. “Signe, I can’t remember when I started loving you. You were just always there, in my heart. The fabric of my life. Every good memory I have of my childhood includes you.”
A few of those memories rushed through her, and her body heated.
“When we were apart, I think my heart simply couldn’t beat. I tried to move on, tried to make peace with the fact that you were, um, gone . . .” He glanced at Aggie, back to Signe. Right. No need to make their children relive the dark years.
“But I couldn’t. You were imprinted on my heart. And when I found you, I finally understood the great love God has for me. For you. For us. The idea that we cannot be erased from his mind. I love you, Signe. I will never stop loving you. You are my yesterday, my today, and my tomorrow. And I will cherish and honor you the rest of the days of my life.”
Oh Ham. Sheesh, he could make a former spy cry.
The sun was sinking behind him, a glorious display of gold, amber, magenta, and copper spilling across the horizon. A flock of geese honked overhead, returning to the north. Buds dotted the apple trees in the fields nearby.
“Ham, you were my hero from the first day you walked into my life. My heart always knew it, but my head couldn’t believe it. Thank you for not giving up on me. For not letting go. For sacrificing and believing in us. I believe God loves me because he gave me you.” She looked at her children. “And Aggie and Ruslan.”
Ruslan had lost a tooth, and when he grinned up at her she could barely speak.
She looked back at her husband. “Ham, you showed me love. You showed me hope. You showed me God. And I am never leaving your side again. I am yours, for the rest of my life.”
He grinned and moved to kiss her but she backed away. “Not quite yet, number three.” She turned to Jenny and held out her hand. Jenny put the black titanium wedding band in her hand.
Signe held it out to Ham. “Just in case people wonder if you’re taken.”
He put it on. “Very, very taken.”
Then he kissed her, sliding his hand behind her neck, and she laughed while their friends clapped.
“That was beautiful,” Aria said, wiping her cheeks, and she hugged Signe.
Ham clapped Jake on the shoulder as Jake shook his hand. Ham whispered in his ear and Jake laughed. “I know.”
Aggie tugged on his jacket, and Ham looked down at her.
“Now do we get to roast marshmallows?”
“Anything for you, Aggie.”
“Ham, you’re so going to spoil her,” Signe said.
He looked at Signe and grinned. “Oh, Shorty, that’s the point of being a father. To delight in your children. I’m just getting started.”
She pressed her hand to her stomach. Smiled. “Yes, Ham, you are.”
His eyes widened.
She winked, grabbed Aggie’s hand, and went to roast marshmallows.
Susan May Warren is the USA Today bestselling author of over eighty novels with more than 1.5 million books sold, including the Montana Rescue series. Winner of a RITA Award and multiple Christy and Carol Awards, as well as the HOLT Medallion and numerous Readers’ Choice Awards, Susan has written contemporary and historical romances, romantic suspense, thrillers, romantic comedy, and novellas. She makes her home in Minnesota. Find her online at www.susanmaywarren.com, on Facebook at Susan May Warren Fiction, and on Twitter @susanmaywarren.
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Table of Contents
Cover
Endorsements
Books by Susan May Warren
Title Page
Copyright Page
Contents
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Epilogue
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
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The Price of Valor Page 32