And he wanted to come home after a tough assignment to the sweetness of Mia’s arms, the heaven of her kisses and the warm light of love in her eyes.
God, he wanted that.
But would Mia want him if he failed? Would she want to spend her time always waiting for him to catch up? Would she want to be around a man trapped forever in the limbo between what he once was and what he hoped never again to be?
You’re not going to settle for any kind of limbo, she’d told him. I know you’re going to do whatever it takes to feel whole again.
You’re going to win.
But what if he didn’t win? What if his knee didn’t allow him to rejoin the SEALs? And in his mind, rejoining the SEALs was the only way to win. Anything short of that, and he’d be a loser.
But Mia had faith in him.
He, however, no longer had her confidence. He knew how easy it was to lose when things were out of his control. And as much as he wanted it to be, his recovery was not in his control.
Frisco’s knee began to throb, and he reached for his painkiller.
He wished he had something that would work as quickly and effectively to ease the ache in his heart.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE MAN CALLED Dwayne was walking across the condo parking lot.
Mia was in her kitchen, standing at the sink, and she just happened to look up and see him.
Not that he was easy to miss. His size called immediate attention to himself. He was wearing another well-tailored suit and a pair of dark sunglasses that didn’t succeed in hiding the bandage across the bridge of his nose or the bruises on his face.
Mia went into her living room, where Natasha was sitting on the floor, working with painstaking care on a drawing. Crayons and paper were spread out in front of her on the wicker coffee table.
Trying to look casual, Mia locked and bolted her door, and then closed the living room curtains.
Dwayne’s presence here was no coincidence. He was looking for Frisco. Or Natasha. But he wasn’t going to find either of them.
Tasha didn’t do more than glance up at Mia as she turned on the lamp to replace the sunlight that was now blocked by the curtains.
“Need more juice?” Mia asked the little girl. “You know, you’ll get better faster if you have more juice.”
Tasha obediently picked up her juice box and took a sip.
Frisco had knocked on Mia’s door at a little after eleven. She almost hadn’t recognized him at first.
He was wearing his dress uniform. It fit him like a glove—white and starched and gleaming in the midmorning sun. The rows and rows and rows of colored bars on his chest also reflected the light. The effect was blinding. Even his shoes seemed to glow.
His hair was damp from a shower and neatly combed. His face was smooth shaven. He looked stern and unforgiving and dangerously professional. He looked like some kind of incredibly, breathtakingly handsome stranger.
And then he smiled. “You should see the look on your face.”
“Oh, really? Am I drooling?”
Heat flared in his eyes, but then he turned and looked down, and Mia saw that Tasha was standing next to him.
“May we come in?” he asked.
Mia pushed open the screen. Tasha was already feeling much better. The little girl was quick to show Mia the second medal she’d had pinned to her T-shirt, awarded for following Frisco’s rules all morning long. Of course, she’d been asleep nearly all morning long, but no one mentioned that.
She’d recovered from her high fever with the remarkable resilience of a small child. The antibiotic was working, and Tasha was back in action, alert and energetic.
Frisco touched Mia gently and lightly as he came inside—just a quick sweep of his fingers down her bare arm. It was enough to take her breath away, enough to remind her of the love they’d made just a few short hours ago. Enough to let her know he remembered, too.
He was wondering if she would mind watching Tasha for a few hours, while he went to the detox hospital and tried to see his sister. That was why he was all dressed up. He figured he had a better shot at getting past the “no visitors” rule if he looked like some kind of hero. One way or another, he was hell-bent on finding out exactly why Dwayne was after Sharon.
Mia volunteered to watch Natasha in Frisco’s condo, but he’d told her he’d rather Tasha stay here at her place—he’d feel less as if he were bothering her. And despite Mia’s reassurances otherwise, her condo was where they’d ended up.
Now she had to wonder—had Frisco expected Dwayne to come looking for him again? Was that why he’d insisted she and Tash stay at her place instead of his?
Resisting the urge to peer out from behind her closed curtains to see if Dwayne was climbing up the stairs, Mia sat down next to Tasha. “What are you drawing?” she asked.
Her heart was drumming in her chest. Dwayne was going to ring Frisco’s doorbell, and realize that no one was home. What then? Would he try the neighbors’ doors in an attempt to find out where the man had gone? What if he rang her bell? What was she going to tell Tasha? How was she going to explain why she wasn’t going to answer her door?
And, dear God—what if Frisco came home while Dwayne was still there?
Natasha carefully selected a red crayon from the brand-new box Frisco had bought her. “I’m making a medal,” she told Mia, carefully staying within the lines she had drawn. “For Frisco. He needs a medal today, too. We were in the kitchen, and he dropped the milk and it spilled on the floor. He didn’t say any bad words.” She put the crayon back and took another. “He wanted to—I could tell—but he didn’t.”
“He’s going to like that medal a lot,” Mia said.
“And then,” Natasha continued, “even though he was mad, he started to laugh.” She chose another crayon. “I asked him if milk felt all funny and squishy between his toes, but he said he was laughing because there was something funny on the refrigerator. I looked, but I didn’t see anything funny. Just a piece of paper with some writing on it. But I can’t read, you know.”
“I know.” Mia had to smile, despite her racing heart. “He laughed, huh?” Before she’d left Frisco’s condo early this morning, she’d started a new list and stuck it onto his refrigerator, next to his other list. Her new list included some of the things he could still do, even with his injured leg. She’d listed things like sing, hug Tasha, laugh, read, watch old movies, lie on the beach, do crossword puzzles, breathe and eat pizza. She’d begun and ended the list, of course, with “make love.” And she’d peppered it thoroughly with spicy and sometimes extremely explicit suggestions—all of which she was quite sure he was capable of doing.
She was glad he’d laughed. She liked it when he laughed.
She liked it when he talked to her, too. He’d revealed quite a bit of himself last night. He had admitted he was afraid his knee wasn’t going to get any better. Mia was almost certain he had been voicing his fears aloud for the very first time.
Frisco’s friend Lucky had told her there was an instructor position waiting for Frisco at the base. Sure, it wasn’t the future he’d expected or intended, but it was a future. It would take him out of this limbo that he feared. It would keep him close to the men he admired and respected. It would make him a SEAL again.
Mia went to the window. She moved the curtain a fraction of an inch then quickly dropped it back into place as she saw Dwayne pulling his large girth up the stairs.
She stood by her front door, listening intently, heart hammering. She could hear the faint sound of Frisco’s doorbell through the thin wall that separated their two condos. It rang once, twice, three times, four.
Then there was silence.
Mia waited, wondering if the man had gone away, or if he was out in the courtyard—or standing in front of her own door.
And then she heard the sound of breaking glass. There was another sound, a crash, and then several more thumps—all coming from inside Frisco’s condominium.
Dwayne had go
ne inside. He’d broken in, and from the sound of things, the son of a bitch was destroying Frisco’s home.
Mia leaped for her telephone and dialed 911.
POLICE CARS—THREE of them—were parked haphazardly in the condominium lot.
Frisco threw a ten-dollar bill at the taxi driver and pulled himself and his crutches as quickly as he could out of the cab.
His heart was in his throat as he raced into the courtyard. People were outside of their units, standing around, watching the police officers, several of whom were outside of both his and Mia’s condos.
Both doors were open wide and one of the uniformed officers went into Mia’s place.
Still on his crutches, Frisco took the stairs dangerously fast. If he lost his balance, he’d seriously hurt himself, but he wasn’t going to lose his balance, dammit. He needed to get up those stairs.
“Mia,” he called. “Tash?”
Thomas King stepped out of Mia’s condo. “It’s okay, Navy,” he said. “No one was hurt.”
But Frisco didn’t slow down. “Where are they?”
“Inside.”
He went in, squinting to adjust his eyes to the sudden dimness. Despite Thomas’s reassurance, he had to see with his own eyes that they were okay. Mia was standing near the kitchen, talking to one of the policewomen. She looked all right. She was still wearing the shorts and sleeveless top she’d had on earlier. Her hair was still back in a single braid. She looked calm and composed.
“Where’s Tasha?”
She looked up at him and a flurry of emotions crossed her face and he knew she wasn’t quite as composed as she looked. “Alan. Thank God. Tasha’s in my office, playing computer games. She’s fine.” She took a step toward him as if she wanted to reach for him, but stopped, glancing back at the police officer, as if she were embarrassed or uncertain as to his reception.
Frisco didn’t give a damn who was watching. He wanted her in his arms, and he wanted her now. He dropped his crutches and pulled her close, closing his eyes and breathing in her sweet perfume. “When I saw those police cars…” He couldn’t continue. He just held her.
“Excuse me,” the policewoman murmured, slipping past them and disappearing out of the open condo door.
“Dwayne came looking for you,” Mia told him, tightening her arms around his waist.
Dwayne. He held her tighter, too. “Dammit, I shouldn’t have left you alone. Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?”
“I saw him coming and we stayed inside,” she said, pulling back to look up at him. “Alan, he totally trashed your living room and kitchen. The rest of the apartment’s okay—I called the police and they came before he went into the bedrooms, but—”
“He didn’t talk to you, didn’t threaten you or Tash in any way?”
She shook her head. “He ran away when he heard the police sirens. He never even knew we were next door.”
Frisco felt a rush of relief. “Good.”
Her eyes were wide. “Good? But your living room is wrecked.”
“To hell with my living room. I don’t care about my living room.”
He gazed down into her eyes, and at her beautiful lips parted softly in surprise, and he kissed her.
It was a strange kiss, having nothing to do with attraction and desire. He wasn’t kissing her because he wanted her. He kissed her because he wanted to vanquish the last of his fears. He wanted to convince himself without a doubt that she truly was all right. It had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the flood of emotions he’d felt while running up those stairs.
Her lips were warm and sweet and pliant under his own. She kissed him eagerly, both giving and taking comfort in return.
When they finally pulled apart, Mia had tears in her eyes. She wiped at them, forcing an apologetic smile. “I was scared out of my mind that Dwayne was going to somehow find you before you got home—”
“I can handle Dwayne.”
She looked away, but not before he caught a glimpse of the skepticism in her eyes. He felt himself tense with frustration, but stopped himself from reacting. Why shouldn’t she doubt his ability to protect himself? Just yesterday, she’d watched Dwayne beat the crap out of him.
He pulled her hand up, positioning it on the outside of his jacket, just underneath his left arm. There was surprise on her face as she felt the unmistakable bulge of his shoulder holster and sidearm.
“I can handle Dwayne,” he said again.
“Excuse me, Lieutenant Francisco…?”
Frisco released Mia and turned to see one of the cops standing just inside the door. He was an older man, balding and gray with a leathery face and a permanent squint to his eyes from the bright California sun. He was obviously the officer in charge of the investigation.
“I’m wondering if we might be able to ask you some questions, sir?”
Mia bent down and picked up Frisco’s crutches, her head spinning.
A gun. Her lover was carrying a gun. Of course, it made sense that he would have one. He was a professional soldier, for crying out loud. He probably had an entire collection of firearms. She simply hadn’t thought about it before this. Or maybe she hadn’t wanted to think about it. It was ludicrous, actually. She, who was so opposed to violence and weapons of any kind, had fallen in love with a man who not only wore a gun, but obviously knew how to use it.
“Thanks,” he murmured to her, positioning his crutches under his arms. He started toward the policeman. “I’m not sure I can give you any answers,” he said to the man. “I haven’t even seen the damage yet.”
Mia followed him out the door. Thomas was still standing outside. “Will you stay with Tasha for a minute?” she asked him.
He nodded and went inside.
She caught up with Frisco as he was stepping into his condo. His face was expressionless as he gazed at what used to be his living room.
The glass-topped coffee table was shattered. The entertainment center that had held his TV and a cheap stereo system had been toppled forward, away from the wall. The heavy wood of the shelves was intact, but the television was smashed. All of his lamps were broken, and the ugly plaid couch had been slashed and shredded, and wads of white stuffing and springs were exposed.
His dining area and kitchen contained more of the same. His table and chairs had been knocked over and the kitchen floor was littered with broken glasses and plates swept down from the cabinets. The refrigerator was open and tipped forward, its contents smashed and broken on the floor, oozing together in an awful mess.
Frisco looked, but didn’t say a word. The muscle in his jaw moved, though, as he clenched his teeth.
“Your…friend ID’d the man who broke in as someone named Dwayne…?” the policeman said. His friend. As Mia watched, Frisco’s eyes flickered in her direction at the officer’s tactful hesitation. The man could have called her his neighbor, but it was obvious to everyone that she was more than that. Mia tried not to blush, remembering the bright-colored condom wrapper that surely still lay on Frisco’s bedroom floor. These police officers had been crawling all over this place for the past twenty-five minutes. They surely hadn’t missed seeing that wrapper—or the way Frisco had pulled her possessively into his arms when he’d arrived. These were seasoned cops. They were especially good at deductive reasoning.
“I don’t know anyone named Dwayne,” Frisco told the policeman. He unbuttoned his jacket, and carefully began maneuvering his way through the mess toward his bedroom. “Mia must’ve been mistaken.”
“Alan, I saw—”
He glanced at her, shaking his head, just once, in warning. “Trust me,” he murmured. Mia closed her mouth. What was he doing? He knew damn well who Dwayne was, and she wasn’t mistaken.
“I appreciate your coming all the way down here, Officer,” he said, “but I won’t be pressing charges.”
The policeman was respectful of Frisco’s uniform and his rows of medals. Mia could hear it in the man’s voice. But he was also obviously not happy with Frisc
o’s decision. “Lieutenant, we have four different witnesses who saw this man either entering or leaving your home.” He spread his hands, gesturing to the destruction around them. “This is no small amount of damage that was done here this afternoon.”
“No one was hurt,” Frisco said quietly.
Mia couldn’t keep quiet. “No one was hurt?” she said in disbelief. “Yesterday someone was hurt….” She bit her lip to keep from saying more. Yesterday that man had sent Frisco to the hospital. His name had been Dwayne then, and it was still Dwayne today. And if Frisco had been home this afternoon…
But trust me, he’d whispered. And she did. She trusted him. So she had swallowed her words.
But her outburst had been enough, and for the first time since he’d stepped inside his condo, Frisco’s face flashed with emotion. “This is not something that’s going to go away by arresting this bastard on charges of breaking and entering and vandalism,” he told her. “In fact, it’ll only make things worse.” He looked from Mia to the cop, as if aware he’d nearly said too much. With effort, he erased all signs of his anger from his face and when he spoke again, his voice was matter of fact. “Like I said, I don’t want to press charges.”
He started to turn away, but the policeman wouldn’t let him go. “Lieutenant Francisco, it sounds like you have some kind of problem here. Maybe if you talked to one of the detectives in the squad…?”
Frisco remained expressionless. “Thank you, but no. Now, if you don’t mind, I want to change my clothes and start cleaning up this mess.”
“I don’t know what’s going on here,” the cop warned him, “but if you end up taking the law into your own hands, my friend, you’re only going to have a bigger problem.”
“Excuse me.” Frisco disappeared into his bedroom, and after a moment, the policeman went out the door, shaking his head in exasperation.
Mia followed Frisco. “Alan, it was Dwayne.”
Tall, Dark and Dangerous Vol 1: Tall, Dark and FearlessTall, Dark and Devastating Page 67