The Stealth Commandos Trilogy

by Suzanne Forster

  Honor, her twin brother, Hale, Jr., and their mother had been on their way to the airport for a family Thanksgiving in Vermont when a car ahead of them had a blowout and the Bartholomews’ Rolls-Royce hit it head-on. The collision killed Adele and Hale, Jr., instantly. Honor sustained only minor injuries. It had seemed a miracle, but the emotional price she paid was enormous. In addition to the devastation of losing her loved ones, she’d had to deal with the guilt of being the only one who survived. Her father had stayed behind to conclude a business deal and was supposed to join the family that night.

  Honor had never seen such naked pain in her father’s eyes as when he learned his son was gone. Beyond the pursuit of power, the blond, tousled-haired boy had been the only thing Hale, Sr., had ever let himself love unrestrainedly. The blow had sent him into an emotional tailspin. Sadly he’d coped by burying himself in his work and avoiding his daughter. Eventually Honor realized it was because she reminded him so much of his son, and he had never been able to express his grief, but by then the damage to their relationship had been done. And the damage to Honor’s self-esteem was almost as devastating. She felt unloved and deeply unworthy.

  She’d entered her teen years an isolated child, largely unaware of her budding physical beauty. Miserable in boarding school, she’d begged her father to let her quit and attend a public high school. He’d agreed, but Honor hadn’t been in any way prepared for the public school students’ curiosity and, eventually, their animosity. Her unusual, quiet beauty and her father’s wealth made her an outsider. She’d had no one to share her solitary dreams with, no one who cared enough to listen or try and understand . . . until Johnny.

  Honor’s hands were trembling as she closed the magazine on her lap. No one but Johnny. Yesterday in his office he’d called himself a poor, dumb Indian, but it was his intelligence that had first attracted her. She’d become aware of him on the high school’s debating team. She’d watched his performances, seen how his fiery brilliance set him apart, and how the other students resented him for it. He’d worn his loneliness like a badge of courage.

  After the trial he’d seemed to vanish from the face of the earth. She lost track of him completely until several years later, when she came across a newspaper headline about three ex-marines who’d distinguished themselves in a daring mission to free American prisoners in the Middle East. The media had described the recovery work they’d been doing for the Pentagon and dubbed them the “Stealth Commandos.”

  Honor had been astonished to read Johnny’s name as one of the three men. He’d looked so different in the photograph, she’d barely recognized him. His hair had been cropped short, and he’d worn military fatigues and aviator sunglasses. The photograph had shown him with his two partners, Chase Beaudine and Geoff Dias. But it was Johnny who held her attention. He’d looked rugged and hardened, as though his military experience had been an exercise in brute survival.

  From that point on Honor had ferreted out every bit of information she could find about the Stealth Commandos. By the time the three men had retired from recovery work, they’d been made national heroes by the media. Johnny had gone into law and quickly become the stuff of legend as the “courtroom warrior.” Chase Beaudine, the man who’d formed the group, had disappeared completely from the limelight, but Geoff Dias, “bad boy of the trio,” according to the press, had formed a mercenary-for-hire operation and remained very much in the public eye with his daring exploits . . . .

  Honor eventually became aware that she’d been drifting in and out of the past all morning. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was early afternoon, and there’d been no sign of Johnny. She felt weak from fatigue and hunger, but she didn’t dare nap or leave to get food. She might miss him when he came in.

  As the afternoon wore on, the receptionist made several hushed calls, rescheduling appointments. Honor eavesdropped shamelessly but could hear nothing except mumblings about a massage-therapy session. She wondered if it was for Johnny or his receptionist. The woman could use some loosening up.

  Eventually the receptionist began preparing to leave. “You going to stay the night?” she asked, giving Honor an exasperated look.

  Honor tried to stand, but she couldn’t get off the couch. Dizziness swamped her as she sank back down.

  The receptionist rose, concerned. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Just dizzy.” Honor anchored herself to the arm of the couch and drew in a sustaining breath. “I’ll be all right,” she said, wondering if it was true as she looked up. “Apparently he isn’t coming in today?”

  “Even if he had come in,” the woman said, seeming to take pity on Honor, “you wouldn’t have seen him.”

  Honor glanced at his office door and realized immediately that he had another exit. Powerful men always had their escape hatches. Her father had his own private elevator that allowed him to get in and out of his office unobserved.

  Suddenly Honor knew exactly where to find Johnny Starhawk. “Thank you,” she said, managing to get to her feet. “Thank you very much.”

  Three

  HONOR’S HUNCH PROVED TRUE. She found Johnny’s private elevator housed in a small room in the garage facility next to the fifteen-story building where Johnny worked. The two structures were linked by a sky-bridge, and the elevator required a key. Since Honor had no idea how to break into an elevator, she had little choice but to take up residence in that small room. It was just after 5:00 P.M., according to her watch, and she reasoned that if he had been in court all day, there was a chance he might stop by his office before going home.

  The concrete rectangle wasn’t built for comfort, but Honor settled herself on the floor in a corner and pulled the shirred skirt of her floral sundress down over her legs. She’d been so indoctrinated by her mother that girls wore skirts, not pants, that even now as an adult she gravitated toward dresses when choosing what to wear. She had pants in her wardrobe, including the jeans her mother abhorred, but skirts comforted her somehow. Perhaps they reinforced a sense of family tradition that seemed to have been lost after Adele’s death.

  She rested her head against the wall and tried mentally to practice the things she had to say to Johnny, but the fatigue that washed over her made it almost impossible to keep track of the points she wanted to make. Her thoughts slowed down like a record played at the wrong speed, warping into odd, disconnected fragments before they slipped away from her altogether. She hadn’t eaten or slept in nearly twenty-four hours, and the combination of nerves, exhaustion, and hunger was taking its toll on her mental processes.

  She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate, but with the darkness behind her lids came a strange lassitude, a heaviness so seductive she wanted to let go of everything and give in to it. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so tired or weak. Within moments she was drifting in a state of semiconsciousness, floating somewhere between sleep and exhaustion, the heaviness dragging her down. She could feel herself sinking deeper and deeper, spiraling helplessly toward something disturbing. . . .

  Terror seized her when she heard the hawk’s scream. Its shadow swept the ground in front of her, causing her to whirl and look up. The sun was a fireball in the sky. It blinded her, and then its brilliance went dark, transformed into the soaring wings of a magnificent creature, a hawk with flashing eyes and flaying talons.

  She screamed, begging for mercy as the creature swooped down on her. Its shadow engulfed her, and she was hit by a heaviness that knocked her to the ground. Her clothes were ripped away. Her arms and legs were pinned to the ground as the demon subdued her, overpowering her struggles. But before the creature could ravish her, it was transformed again, this time into a man. He was savage and terrifying, as magnificent as the hawk, his black hair flying like wings, his features covered with war paint.

  And then she saw the knife. . . .

  Honor screamed and screamed, one bloodcurdling shriek after another as a pair of hands closed on her arms and pulled her to her feet, anchoring her against
the concrete wall.

  “Honor! What happened? Are you all right?”

  She struggled against her assailant, against the nightmare that wouldn’t let go of her. The hawk’s shriek was ringing in her ears. She could still see the warrior and the terrible flashing blade of his knife. At the same time, from somewhere outside of her, she could hear Johnny’s voice. He was shouting at her, but it seemed a part of the dream.

  “Honor, tell me what happened. Did someone hurt you? Were you attacked?”

  She felt herself being shaken back to consciousness, and she opened her eyes. Haloed by the room’s dim light, Johnny looked huge and terrifying. His grip on her arms was bruising, his eyes incandescent. “Let go!” she cried.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, trying to calm her. “What happened? For God’s sake. Honor, tell me.”

  She twisted out of his arms, staggering backward. Overcome by dizziness and nausea, she slumped against the concrete wall and sagged to her knees.

  “Honor!”

  She shook her head, cringing as he knelt next to her. “It was terrible,” she said. “He had a knife—”

  “Oh, God,” Johnny breathed. “Who had a knife?” He hovered near her protectively, as though wanting to help, but hesitant to touch her in any way. “Honor, who was it?” His voice rasped as he asked the next question. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No—I don’t know.” A bewildered sob shook through her. “It was a dream, I think.”

  “A dream? You weren’t attacked?”

  “Yes . . . I was.” When the shuddering finally stopped. Honor gathered herself together and looked up at him. “By you,” she said, knowing the terror she felt must have seeped into her eyes. “You had the knife.”

  She saw a flash of disbelief cross his face. His expression held regret and concern, as if he was struggling with an apology, but the words wouldn’t come. Finally he stood up and took off his jacket, settling it over her shoulders. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Can you stand up now?”

  “I think so.” She drew up one leg and tried to stand, but she was shaking too badly to manage it.

  “Come on, paleface . . . be strong.”

  Tears of astonishment sprang to Honor’s eyes. He’d whispered the same thing years ago when he’d broken the news that he was being charged with assault. Looking up at him now, she almost thought she’d imagined hearing the words. They’d been low and harsh, but very gentle . . . and he had spoken them. She saw his outstretched hand, the long fingers, the rich brown skin. He was offering to help her.

  Honor felt a stirring of disbelief as she put her hand in his. A sparkle of awareness ran up the inside of her arm, tingling her skin. He’d never touched her this way before, she realized. And perhaps she hadn’t allowed herself to believe that he ever would. Tears welled up again, embarrassing her as she responded uncontrollably to the signals his touch communicated, the gentle strength, the warmth. Her defenses were down. She was overreacting to everything, especially to him, and yet she wanted to believe that some link might have been made between them, a tendril of friendship restored.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, clutching his hand. “It seems I’m always crying around you, always apologizing.”

  He didn’t respond, but she felt his other arm brace her, supporting her until she was on her feet. They released hands slowly, their fingers brushing with tiny, awkward collisions, each exquisitely sensitive. Honor’s breath shuddered as she released it. She had no protection. The sight of his burnished skin on hers, the feel of it, was a tripwire to her overwrought nerves.

  “Thank you,” she managed.

  “It’s okay,” he said huskily. “My . . . pleasure.”

  Dizziness washed over her as she looked up at him. His pleasure? The thought of giving Johnny Starhawk pleasure of any kind brought her to a pitch of awareness that was almost painful. The shadings of emotion in his expression confused her. They were too complex to analyze, but she could see one thing clearly. Desire. It flickered like a candle flame in his smoky eyes.

  Physical intimacy hadn’t been a part of their teenage relationship, but there had always been an implicit sexuality. Even at fourteen, she’d been acutely aware of him as male, of herself as female. Perhaps it was the very force of their attraction that had kept them apart. One touch, one kiss, and they’d have been swept into something forbidden.

  The thought of doing forbidden things with Johnny made her shudder inside. Dark images of entangled bodies flashed into her mind, animal images—the dangerous passion of the male panther, the excited cries of his mate.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “Do you need a doctor?”

  She shook her head, grateful he’d brought her out of her strange fantasy. “I’ll be fine once I get my bearings.”

  His jacket had fallen off her shoulder, and as he drew it back on, she noticed the marks on her upper arms. They were reddened and raised like welts. It took her a moment to understand what had happened. They’d come from Johnny’s hands. His grip had been rough and urgent when he’d first pulled her to her feet. When she’d tried to get away, his fingers had cut into her arms. Hoping he wouldn’t see the marks, she tugged the coat around her.

  But Johnny had seen them. His eyes caught every tender red welt. Against her pale skin they looked like serious wounds, and the sight took him by storm. He was vaguely aware that she was pulling against him as he held the coat open, but he couldn’t release his grip on the material. His gaze was riveted on the marks, and the feelings that hit him were beyond description. That he might actually have hurt her caused revulsion, but it was more than that. He felt a jolt of longing too. And need. Animal need. To touch the wounds, to heal them. To claim the marks as his. His heart was pounding with a force that almost suffocated him.

  When he found his voice, it was a ragged whisper. “I always knew I’d leave marks if I touched you.”

  Honor went breathlessly still. He was beautiful and frightening, a man possessed. The traces of anguish in his voice mesmerized her. She tried to close the coat. She tried to remove his hand, but it was clenched around the linen material. The conflict in his eyes was horrible, but she couldn’t let herself acknowledge it.

  “I always wanted you to touch me, Johnny,” she said. “I wouldn’t care about marks, or anything else, if only you would touch me.”

  Johnny’s hands locked, frozen between drawing her forward and holding her back. The turmoil inside him was agonizing. What was she doing? Offering herself? A lamb to the sacrificial altar? She couldn’t possibly know how profound a temptation she was. He wanted her so badly, it felt like a destructive force, a rage that neither of them would survive if he ever released it. It astonished him that she didn’t seem to fear what he might do to her. Didn’t she understand that he couldn’t even touch her without triggering that dark rage? That making love to her would be wildly dangerous?

  He freed the coat and stepped back, his muscles aching from the sudden release of tension.

  She looked up at him, bewildered. “It’s all right. I’m not hurt.” She seemed desperate to make him see that the marks didn’t mean anything, that they weren’t an omen of things to come. But Johnny was beyond reassurance. He was all tangled up inside, soulsick from wanting her and from knowing what he was capable of doing to her. He couldn’t trust himself to get near her again. He would hurt her, one way or another, whether he wanted to or not.

  “My decision is for the defendant in this case.” The judge’s sonorous voice boomed through the hushed courtroom. “In the matter of Beaumont Oil versus Ridgecrest Community Church, I find in favor of Ridgecrest Community Church.”

  The church’s minister let out a gasp and flung his arms around Johnny. The man’s wife broke down in sobs, and the crowd in the gallery came to their feet, cheering enthusiastically. It was a dizzy, exhilarating moment. Johnny clapped the minister on the back, then released him, a smile breaking on his face. The older man’s joy was palpable, and as Johnny watched him tu
rn to his weeping wife and embrace her, he felt a sense of great relief. Maybe he’d actually done something right for a change. If so, it was the first time in days.

  “Hey, Starhawk! Bonzai!”

  Over the heads of the hugging couple, Johnny’s assistant flashed him a thumbs-up. The junior attorney was the very person Johnny wanted to talk to at that moment, but several members of the church’s congregation rushed forward with congratulations, blocking the way.

  Johnny took all the kudos in stride as he made his way over to his assistant and drew him aside. “You take it from here, Lone Ranger,” he said under his breath, knowing he was giving the younger man a chance at the limelight. “Once you get our clients safely through this pack and outside, you can field the media’s questions. Tell them this case has restored your faith in the American legal process. That’s always good for a network sound bite.”

  “Where are you going?” his assistant asked with a surprised smile. “What about our victory party at Riley’s Pub?”

  “I need a break,” Johnny said. “Relax and enjoy yourself. Your wickedly handsome mug is going to be splashed coast to coast on the five o’clock news. The barmaids over at Riley’s will be panting for you when you get there.”

  After giving his assistant a few more last-minute instructions, Johnny slipped out a side door into the hallway. The press would be waiting out front, and if he moved quickly enough, he might escape without being noticed. There was one stop he had to make first, however. He fished in the pocket of his suit pants for his keys.

  The men’s room was empty when he opened the locked door and let himself in. A row of mirrors flashed his reflection back at him as he walked to one of the basins, and he was surprised at his resemblance to a civilized human being. Despite the excitement of winning a tough case, he half expected to see a wild-eyed beast snarling back at him. He hadn’t felt civilized since the morning she’d walked back into his life. He’d barely felt human.