by Tawna Fenske
She must have fallen asleep at some point, and when she woke up, there were faint cracks of daylight seeping through dark clouds. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, then got to her feet and shuffled to the front of the motor home. Gordy had his eyes on the road, but Laverne had nodded off in the passenger seat.
“Where are we?” she asked Gordy
“The Puget Sound area.”
“That’s near Fort Lewis?”
“Yeah. We’re just about there.”
Laverne stirred, then opened her eyes and smiled when she saw Janelle. “Did you get some rest, pattycake?”
“A little.”
“You sure about this?” She reached out and touched Janelle’s hand, a look of concern knitting her brows together. “I know you can’t share what you’re running from, but at least promise us you’ll be safe.”
“I promise.” Janelle swallowed, willing herself to believe her own words. “I’ll be in good hands with my brother-in-law.”
Gordy nodded. “He’s a marine, he’s your man’s brother, and Schwartz trusts him. That’s good enough for me.”
Seemingly satisfied, Laverne turned back to the road as Gordy pulled the motor home to a stop in front of a building Janelle had seen only once when she and Anna had come to visit Grant. She probably should have called somehow instead of showing up on his doorstep like this, but she hadn’t wanted to risk him telling her to stay put with Schwartz. She couldn’t bear the thought of spending one more night with a man she loved who couldn’t love her back. Who couldn’t love himself.
“This is the place, right?”
Janelle turned to Gordy, blinking back the tears filling her eyes. “Yeah, this is it. Thank you so much, you two. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s no problem at all,” Laverne said. “This was a great excuse to come visit Scotty.”
Gordy glanced at his watch. “If we hustle, maybe we can have breakfast with him.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Laverne said, turning back to Janelle. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Positive.”
Gordy reached for his seat belt. “Let me walk you to the door.”
“No, really, it’s okay,” she said. “It’s just a few steps away, and you guys need to catch your son in time for breakfast. I’ll be fine. Really.” She fished in her purse, grateful she’d had the foresight to bring it along when they’d left the cabin. She didn’t have the rest of her things, but she could have Schwartz send those along later. Much later.
“Here, let me give you some cash—”
“Nonsense,” Laverne said, waving her off. “It was our pleasure.”
“Please?”
“You go on,” Gordy said, waving her along. “Just promise us you’ll be in touch to let us know everything’s okay.”
“I promise,” Janelle said, relieved she’d have enough cash to pay for a few groceries. Even with Jacques in custody, she wasn’t dumb enough to risk using one of her credit cards. Not with his thugs still out there possibly looking for her.
“Thanks again,” she said as she opened the door to the motor home. “Happy anniversary.”
“Bye-bye.” Laverne stood up and gave her a hug that squeezed all the breath out of her. “Take care of yourself, Miss Rebecca.”
Rebecca. Right. She’d almost forgotten she was using her middle name. She nodded, turning away so they wouldn’t see her tears. She was crying in earnest now, big, sloppy tears she knew had nothing to do with Gordy and Laverne. She hitched her purse up on her shoulder and stepped out of the motor home, trying to keep her posture straight.
“I’ll be fine,” she called over her shoulder, knowing nothing could be further from the truth.
…
Thirty minutes later, Janelle stood at the counter of a convenience store, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Okay, so her plan hadn’t worked out so well. Apparently she’d picked the one weekend Grant had decided to travel to Portland and surprise her sister with a visit. It was fine; everything would be fine. Portland was only a couple hours away. She just needed to get to Anna’s place, that’s all.
“Good morning,” she said, and the clerk looked up from his newspaper and regarded her with a bored expression. “Is this where I catch the bus that’s headed to Portland?”
“Yeah.” He nodded at the clock on the wall behind her. “Should be along in about forty minutes. You can buy your ticket from the driver.”
“Thank you.”
She turned to study the selection of snacks, her gaze drifting past granola bars and potato chips to rest on a box of strawberry Pop-Tarts. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, and then she felt dumb for crying over toaster pastries.
“You have a way to heat these?” she asked, picking up the box.
“There’s a toaster over there. Next to the coffee machine.”
She bought the Pop-Tarts and a sad-looking orange, then made her way to the coffeemaker where she filled up the biggest cup they had while she waited for her Pop-Tarts to get warm. She carried the whole thing out to the bench outside, surprised to realize how ravenous she was. She devoured the Pop-Tarts in seconds, eyes welling with tears as she licked the crumbs from her fingers. She ordered herself not to think about him, not to remember that slow, guarded smile or the broad hands on her back or the way he whispered in her ear as she was about to break beneath him.
Swallowing back emotion, Janelle reached into her purse and found the disposable phone Schwartz had mailed her before she’d made the trip to meet him. She was surprised to realize it still had a bit of a charge. Not much of one, but it wasn’t dead yet.
She held the phone in her palm, considering it. Schwartz had deemed it safe to use before. It was supposedly untraceable. Fingers trembling, she dialed her sister’s number. The phone rang once, twice, three times, then clicked over to Anna’s voicemail.
Hi, you’ve reached Anna Keebler of Anna’s Wild Weddings. I’d love to help you plan your big day, so leave your name, number, and a message, and I’ll get back to you right away. Have a great day!
Janelle closed her eyes, not sure if the wave of sadness that hit her came from missing her sister or the thought that the odds of ever having a big day with Schwartz were about as high as her odds of winning a Nobel Prize.
She waited for the beep, then cleared her throat. “Hey, Anna. It’s me. It’s Saturday, so I’m guessing you’re in the middle of a wedding. Anyway, I’m sure Grant told you the police made the arrest, so, uh—looks like this might be all over.” She gave a hollow little laugh that sounded ridiculous, but she couldn’t erase the message now. “Things were getting weird with Schwartz and—well, anyway, I’ll tell you all about it later. I think this stupid phone is about to die, but I wondered if I could crash at your place for a day or two until I figure out—”
The phone made a weird clicking noise, then went silent. Janelle pulled it back from her ear and looked at it. Yep, dead as a doornail. She had a charger, but the bus was pulling up and she’d have nothing to plug it into for at least a few hours.
No matter. She had enough cash to get from the bus station in Portland to Anna’s apartment, or maybe to the Wild Weddings office. She didn’t have Anna’s schedule memorized, but her sister almost always did wedding work on Saturdays. If Grant had gone down to surprise her, she must not have any out-of-town weddings this weekend.
The bus rolled up to the front of the convenience store, and Janelle got on. She paid the driver and picked a seat near the back, wondering if she could take off her wig now. It was itchy and hot, and it seemed pointless anyway. She tugged it off and shoved it in her purse, making sure none of the other passengers noticed. Running her fingers through her hair, she took a shaky breath. Jacques and Bernie were both behind bars, and the rest of his men weren’t likely to keep hunting her without him. She could relax a little.
She must have relaxed more than she realized, because somehow she nodded off. She woke to the bus driver calling out that they’
d reached the main terminal in Portland. Rubbing her eyes, Janelle stood up. She probably looked like hell. She’d been traveling for more than a dozen hours now, and hadn’t changed clothes since she’d left Schwartz’s cabin the previous afternoon. When had she showered last?
Oh.
The memory came flooding back, soapy hands on bare breasts, her face buried in the hollow of his chest, his tongue moving between her legs.
Damn. Was that really less than twenty-four hours ago? It seemed like a whole lifetime had passed since then. Janelle sighed and stood up, her road-weary legs carrying her to the front of the bus. She spotted a cab idling at the end of the curb, and she ambled over and peered in the window.
“Where you headed?” the driver asked.
“Anna’s Wild Weddings. It’s in the Pearl District.”
“You getting married?”
“No.” Janelle swallowed hard. “Definitely not.”
She got in the cab, thinking this was a better choice than starting with Anna’s apartment. Her sister always worked on Saturdays, so she’d surely be there at some point today. Janelle had helped out with a few weddings before Jacques’s threats drove her underground, so she still knew the code to the alarm. She could wait there for her sister, maybe even help out with tidying and organizing. It was the least she could do after all the strings her sister had pulled to keep her safe.
She watched the trees and buildings swish past as the cabbie made his way along city streets bustling with cars and people and a thick Portland drizzle. It felt weird to be back in a city. Stifling somehow, and she found herself looking around for tamarack trees.
“Here you go,” the cabbie said, pulling up in front of the building. “That’ll be sixteen-twenty.”
Janelle thrust a twenty-dollar bill at him. “Keep the change,” she said, pushing open the door of the cab. She stepped out onto the sidewalk, shivering a little in the misty Portland morning.
She walked up to the front door stenciled with tasteful flowers and the name of her sister’s business. ANNA’S WILD WEDDINGS. She traced the lettering with her finger, missing her sister so fiercely her belly ached.
What had it been like for Schwartz being separated from his family for ten years? Janelle couldn’t fathom it. Losing contact with her sister was the worst sort of agony Janelle could imagine.
That’s why he chose that, she thought, running a finger over an etching of a daisy. Cutting himself off from his family. Schwartz picked the worst punishment he could conceive of for himself.
The thought made her want to weep. She had to get inside before she turned into a silly, sobbing mess right here on the sidewalk in the trendy Pearl District.
She tried the door, but it was locked. Knocking a couple times just in case, she turned and flipped open the cover for the security PIN-pad beside the door. She punched in her own birthday, followed by their mom’s birthday, followed by their dad’s birthday, and then Anna’s.
The PIN-pad beeped, and Janelle breathed a sigh of relief, grateful Anna hadn’t thought to change it. Pushing open the door, Janelle breathed in the scent of flowers and vanilla cupcakes. She shut the door behind her, not wanting any hopeful brides to mistake her for the wedding consultant. The last thing she needed right now was a beautiful, jubilant woman gushing to her about love and happiness and plans for her happily ever after.
She was flipping the lock into place when she heard the voice behind her.
“Hello, Janelle. I’ve been looking for you.”
A frozen spear of terror pierced the space between her shoulder blades. She pivoted slowly, her stomach dropping to her knees as she turned to face her ex-husband.
…
“I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ve flown on a private jet with a wolf.”
Schwartz looked up to see his sister, Sheri, scratching Sherman’s ears. Mac’s wife, Kelli, slid her palms over the big dog’s neck and peered at the shaggy beast with apparent clinical interest.
“He’s handling the flight surprisingly well,” Kelli said, looking every bit the veterinarian Schwartz knew her to be. The prognosis earned Kelli a lick, which also earned her a rare smile from Mac. “Heart rate’s good,” Kelli continued. “He’s not showing signs of stress from takeoff or unfamiliar surroundings. Nice to see he’s been neutered.”
“That’s more than we can say for Sam.” Sheri frowned. “The ability to handle stress, not the neutering. Obviously, that’s not an issue.”
Everyone looked at Sheri’s husband, who was seated just a few feet from his wife. He was a big guy, a marine —a sniper, if Schwartz remembered right—but at the moment, he looked positively green.
Sam folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the seat. “What? Is it wrong that I’m not nuts about the idea of my pregnant wife flying off to track down some idiot drug lord and his thugs?”
Sheri sighed. “I told you I’ll stay out of harm’s way. I still don’t understand why they don’t make maternity Kevlar vests. Seriously, there should be a market for that.”
“Relax, sweetie.” Stella Patton gave Sam a firm pat on the shoulder before turning back to the slimline Glock she’d been cleaning since shortly after takeoff. Schwartz stared at the weapon in his mother’s hands, wondering if it was the same one she used to oil while breastfeeding him. “I was still flying fighter jets when I was pregnant with your wife,” Stella told Sam. “Sheri comes by it honestly.”
“Could you all stop talking about testicles and pregnancy for a minute?” Mac looked up from his laptop and regarded each of them with a steely stare. “I’m trying to get a location on the bastard stalking Schwartz’s girl.”
“Right.” Sam saluted him. “Grant’s meeting us at the airport?”
“Yes.” Mac punched a few more keys, and Schwartz studied the furrow in his brother’s brow. It was the same one Grant had, the same one he saw every time he looked at himself in the mirror.
He’d been looking at himself a lot these last few hours. Not literally, of course—this wasn’t the time for gazing at his fucking reflection in an airplane bathroom. No, he’d been thinking about history and family and all the things Janelle had said before she walked out of the room.
And it was time to address the elephant in the room. Or on the plane, as the case may be.
Schwartz cleared his throat. “Look, guys—I appreciate you all coming together like this on short notice. I’m kind of amazed we could pull it off.”
“I’ve ceased being amazed by my husband’s ability to pull off weapons deals and terrorist negotiations on short notice,” Kelli said, beaming proudly at Mac. “Now if I could just get him to put the toilet seat down.”
“Let me know if you figure it out,” Sheri said. “Or if you have any tips to get them to stop reading Guns & Ammo to the twins as a bedtime story.”
“What?” Sam asked. “They like the pictures.”
Schwartz felt his chest tighten at the fond familiarity swirling among the members of his family. How long had it been since he’d felt this? Since he’d been a part of such a tight-knit group that shared bad jokes and DNA? A decade. Maybe longer.
“Look, I feel like I owe you an apology,” Schwartz said, hoping to bring them all back around to the subject at hand. “I know I haven’t been around much the last ten years.”
Sheri raised an eyebrow. “‘Haven’t been around much’ would be an apt description if you dodged a few family reunions, Schwartz. You purposefully dropped off the face of the earth. No one but Grant even knew how to reach you.”
“I appreciated the flowers for my birthday, though,” Kelli offered. “Even though we’d never met.”
“Right,” Schwartz said, raking his hands through his hair. “The thing is, I had a hard time after what happened in Anbar Province.”
His mother set her gun down in her lap and looked at him. “Sweetie, you were in a coma for over a month. Any of us would have had a hard time.”
“But that’s just it,” Schwartz said. �
��We have this whole family history of military achievements. Of bravery and honor and valor and courage, and I fucked it all up. Men died because of me. Because of my mistake.”
“That’s not true,” Stella snapped. “Men died because they were in combat. That’s the way it works, Schwartz. It wasn’t your fault.”
“But I misread a map and—”
“No, you listen to me, young man.” Stella folded her arms over her chest, and it occurred to Schwartz that his mother was still fully capable of turning him over her knee. The thought made him sit up straighter in his seat.
“A lot of us in this family—Mac, Sam, your father, myself—we’re well-acquainted with the sort of demons you’ve been fighting,” Stella said. “We all have regrets, Schwartz. Things we might have done differently in our lives or on the battlefield. But we’ve all made the best decisions we could in the moment. Our ability to live with that is what unites us as a family—not some goddamn code of honor.”
“But I screwed up.”
“We’ve all screwed up,” she said, softening her tone to one that sounded achingly maternal. “You think I don’t still wonder about the gunner I lost to a roadside IED or fret about my poor wording in the next-of-kin letter I wrote for a private we lost in Somalia, or kicked myself over the time I mixed up the gun oil and the diaper cream when I was changing the baby?”
“Been there, done that,” Sam muttered.
“My point,” Stella said, “is that the choices you make—for better or worse—are part of what makes you a soldier instead of a robot. They’re what make you human. They’re what make you a Patton.”
“You’re one of us, Schwartz,” Sheri said, reaching out to touch his hand.
“Fucking get used to it,” Mac growled, his eyes much warmer than his tone, though it was tough to tell behind those damn sunglasses.
“But how can you ever forgive me?” Schwartz asked. “For what happened ten years ago, or for how I handled everything after that? I’ve had a decade of making one wrong decision after the other—not calling when I should have, and isolating myself from you so I wouldn’t have to see your disappointment.”