Here Comes The Groom: Special Forces #1

by Karina Bliss

  He tore open the envelope.

  Dear Dan,

  I can’t undo the mistake of keeping you out of my treatment. I can only show you what faith I have in you for our future.

  So, I’m falling backward, with my eyes closed and trusting you to catch me.

  See you at the wedding.

  xxx Jo

  P.S. I know you chose ivory for the waistcoat and tie. But Barry talked me into taupe.

  As he stared at the message, dumbfounded and appalled, drops of rain splattered on the page and blurred the kisses. I’m marrying a scary, crazy woman.

  Carefully he dabbed the paper dry against his jeans, and slid it into his pocket.

  Scary because he couldn’t hide anything from her. Crazy because there was no way in hell he’d make it home in…

  Shoving his sleeve up to check the time, he cursed. As a tracker, he’d been drawn to a watch with gadgets—GPS, distance timer. Ross had replaced it with his analog diver’s watch. Knowing Ross, that meant Dan would be immersed in water somewhere on his journey. Grimly, he repacked his rucksack, rolling the contents in the plastic groundsheet first.

  He had no idea where he was in those 213,000 hectares. He had no map but the hazy one in his memory, no compass, no communications. And when he got out of the park, nothing but his ability to persuade people to help him. Even once he reached a road, he was looking at a three-and-a-half-hour drive to Beacon Bay.

  And the wedding was—he checked Ross’s watch—in nine hours. Which left him five and a half to get out of here. “Jo,” he groaned aloud. “What have you done?”

  If the sun were shining he could have found north using the hands of the watch. Except there wasn’t any sun. Mist hung over the forest like a shroud, diffusing the early morning light into an amorphous nothing.

  Rain feathered through the mist, chilly and persistent on the nape of his neck as he shouldered his backpack and walked into the forest, examining the foliage.

  He quieted his mind, narrowed his focus and tried to recall everything he knew about the topography. The terrain was a series of fault lines, river-carved valleys and steep mountain ridges, thickly mantled by vegetation. The rivers flowed north.

  Right now, he stood on the downward-sloping side of a small clearing. The chopper would have landed on a ridgeline. Most of the trees below were beech, a dominant species in the southern end of the ranges, which meant that civilization lay to the southeast.

  In the Southern Hemisphere, the thickest growth was to the north. Finding a broken tree, he checked the stump. The growth rings spaced more widely on the northern side.

  Now he had orientation.

  His best chance was in finding a river. Rivers were highways. There’d be trails, huts and people. But for now he’d skirt the ridgelines to avoid being boxed in. He didn’t have time to retrace his steps. And being high would give him a vantage point when the mist cleared.

  Before he left, he crossed some twigs in a marker, pointing the direction he would take. In case Jo came to her senses. Or Ross got cold feet.

  Yeah, right.

  * * *

  “Are you sure you want to talk business now?” Grant shifted uneasily in his chair. “You’re getting married this afternoon…wouldn’t you prefer to concentrate on bridal stuff?”

  Jo, Grant and Chris sat at a corner table in Shaker’s. Around them the place was being transformed for her early-evening wedding reception. One person tied black bows around white-swathed chairs, another positioned wrought-iron candelabra holding silver tapers on white runners over black tablecloths, while a third buffed wineglasses.

  Jo had chosen this day, time and venue precisely because she wanted to make Grant nervous. Chris frowned at his colleague. “She wants to tie up loose ends before she enters the next phase of her life, don’t you, Jo?”

  “Exactly,” she said. Assuming that door’s still open. “And since I’ve postponed this meeting twice already…”

  Chris smiled. “Well, that sounds promising.” He pulled a contract from his briefcase and pushed it across the starched tablecloth. “We made all the changes you requested…sponsorship, staff guarantees, et cetera.”

  She’d been playing with him, setting up a few hoops, throwing in a couple of loops. Accepting the paperwork, Jo pretended to read it.

  There was another, private, reason for doing this now. She needed the distraction. Somewhere in the Ureweras, Dan was struggling to get home. What had he made of her letter? Had he understood any part of why she’d done this? Jo talked herself down. It was done now; all she could do was wait…and pray.

  “Jo, you need a pen?” Chris proffered a black-and-gold Mont Blanc.

  “Very nice,” she said, turning it over to admire it.

  “Keep it,” he said magnanimously. “A goodwill gesture…no strings. Here, let me take the top off for you.”

  “Thanks.” Jo handed him the pen. “So I have one question before we go any further.” And though she knew that whether this worked or not she wouldn’t be signing, her throat went dry. What if I’m wrong and they’re not bluffing? What if I’ve put the Chronicle’s future…my staffs jobs at risk?

  Chris leaned forward. “Shoot.”

  “Excuse me, sir, may I put this on the table?”

  Impatiently, he sat back and the florist positioned a glossy white box. Eight long-stemmed white roses sat on a bed of dark green ivy. Jo touched the velvety buds. “So Dan went for white, then.”

  The florist smiled at her. She looked like a flower herself with a vibrant, flowing top patterned in water lilies. “He liked the idea that white holds the potential to move to any color,” she said, her long earrings tinkling as she gesticulated. “Psychically, it represents wholeness. New directions.” She glanced at Chris, who was rolling his eyes. “It’s so nice to meet a man with an open mind,” she told Jo.

  God, I hope so. She returned that sweet smile. “Thank you, you’ve done a wonderful job.”

  In a strange way it was calming to sit in the middle of this organized chaos—every perfectly executed detail a reminder of Dan’s commitment. Please God, let him see her action in the same light.

  “Jo,” Chris prompted, placing the pen in front of her. “You have a question?”

  She lifted her eyes from the roses. “Does CommLink really have plans to set up in opposition if I don’t sell?”

  “We’ve already established that,” Chris said, then caught the direction of her gaze. “There’s no point looking at Grant. He’s not going to tell you any different.”

  “No, of course not…that would be unethical and Grant suffers from a conscience.” Picking up the contract, she returned it to Chris. “You know what? I’m going to take my chances. Grant, I don’t pay nearly as well but you’ll be able to sleep at night.”

  “You’re trying to poach my staff in front of me?”

  “Chris, you know I’d never say anything behind your back that I wouldn’t say in front of you. You’re an asshole. You used someone I grew up with as a stooge and you treated me like a patsy.”

  She stood to leave. “Oops, nearly forgot.” She pocketed the Mount Blanc pen. “Thanks for the goodwill gesture.”

  The old gang had played a lot of poker in their teens and Grant could never understand why he was so bad at it. They hadn’t told him that whenever he tried a bluff on bad cards his left eyelid would start to twitch.

  * * *

  Dan was traversing a bank of scoria when it began to shift. A few loose pebbles at first, skipping down the slope and disappearing soundlessly into the treeline. Others followed in a loose, lazy slide, catching at his feet, sinking him ankle-deep. Turning sideways to the slope, he kept moving, fighting to stay upright.

  The scree kept coming. He disappeared up to his knees, hauling each leg out—desperate now—eyes fixed on the edge of the forest. The rumble grew to a roar. Glancing up he saw a wave of bouncing rocks and pebbles tumbling toward him and dived sideways, rolling the last few feet into the shelter of the t
rees.

  A small rock ricocheted off his left cheek, leaving a sharp stinging sensation, a larger one cracked him on the head. Dazed, he scrambled the last few feet on hands and knees, coughing as the dust cloud tickled his lungs and made his eyes water.

  He’d been a bloody idiot taking the risk, letting the time pressure get to him. The forest sank back into silence. For a moment he lay in the bracken, then he turned onto the backpack with a groan, gingerly stretched out his limbs and tested his joints. He was okay. Covered head to toe in dust, but okay.

  When I said act like a girl I didn’t mean a dumb blonde, Lee said and Dan laughed shakily. Great. Now he was hallucinating voices. Pushing to his feet, he drank from the water bottle and ate a Mars bar.

  The clouds were clearing, enough to get a reading on the sun. But mist still obscured the lower reaches, which meant he couldn’t risk going down and getting lost. Aiming the hour hand in the sun’s direction, he bisected the angle between the hour hand and twelve to find a rough north.

  Trying not to notice it was nine-fifteen.

  Thirty minutes later the weather had closed in again. He swore as he alternated left and right around obstacles to counter a tendency to veer in one direction.

  Having to constantly look forward and back to line up the two landmarks that kept him in a straight line had seriously slowed his progress. And he still had no idea how much farther he needed to go.

  Mentally, he adjusted his calculations. Three and a half hours’ drive could be reduced to three if he drove like a bat out of hell. Assuming he could beg a car. And Jo would wait.

  Shit. He turned to check his landmark, found it obscured by a swirl of mist and stopped, waiting for it to clear. Shit, shit, shit. At least his forward mark was still visible—just.

  A rusa stag appeared in the dense scrub below him and he froze. This one was a beauty, deep red with antlers growing up three by three—six points. A wily animal to escape hunters for so many years.

  The mist rolled around and between them like broken clouds. For all the movement, the air was quiet. The animal stopped grazing and raised its head, nostrils flaring and flanks heaving as it caught his scent. It looked straight at him with dark velvety eyes. Unaccountably his own filled with tears.

  Last time he’d walked here, he’d been one of five young men, honing skills that would take them through a decade of soldiering together. A sob ripped through him and the stag vanished between one blink and the next.

  Sinking to his knees on the rocky outcrop, alone with no witnesses, he laid his cheek against the cold stone and wept all the tears he’d never allowed himself to shed. I’m sorry. For all of us. Forgive me, my brothers.

  The wind gradually numbed the lobes of his ears under the woolen beanie. Finally lifting his face, he closed his eyes and imagined it blowing through him. Slowly, peace filled the hollow places inside and he remembered not what he’d lost but what he’d been left. And who.

  Sunlight hit his eyelids and he opened them. The cloud and mist were starting to evaporate. In the valley below the river winked in a shaft of sunlight and was gone. But he had a fix on it now.

  Standing, he rubbed his wet eyes and his knuckles came away a dust-streaked gray. Wiping them dry on his jacket, he started down. While he jogged, he thought of Ross, scarred and driven by vengeance; Claire and Lewis, struggling to make sense of the senseless; and Nate, who’d cut himself off from the only family he had.

  One of them had to take the first step on the road back. He had to win this one, not just for him and Jo but for all of them.

  In the end, there was only one way to lead.

  By example.

  Chapter Twenty

  Pat stepped clear with the makeup kit and Jo’s face reappeared in her bedroom mirror. She blinked in surprise.

  “Well?” Pat prompted.

  “Forget Dan, I can do better.” Her eyes had been highlighted with a smoky gray shadow, lashes lengthened, skin tone a flawless porcelain.

  Pat laughed. “Too late now.”

  Jo smoothed out the skirt of her wedding gown and tried not to look at her watch, a delicate silver thread on her wrist, sparkling with marquisette. She’d only checked it a few minutes ago. It was twelve-thirty. And not a peep from Dan.

  “Every bride suffers the jitters.” Pat twisted one of Jo’s red curls so it spiraled artfully over her left eyebrow, then smoothed the lace on the short sleeves. “You’ll be fine.”

  “Of course I will.” Standing, Jo took a spin in front of the mirror. “You made me beautiful,” she said and hugged her future mother-in-law. “Thank you.”

  Pat fumbled for a tissue on the dressing table and dabbed carefully under her eyes. “Don’t you dare make my mascara run.”

  There was a tap on the door and Ross’s dark head appeared. “Ready?” His mouth was grim, which meant he hadn’t heard from Dan either. Ignoring a flutter of panic, Jo picked up her beaded white bag.

  “Ready.”

  “You might at least compliment the bride,” Pat complained.

  The best man cast a perfunctory scan over Jo’s appearance. “Gorgeous.” Silver eyes met hers, steely with anxiety. “Shall we go?”

  Jo picked up the skirt of her gown and started downstairs, her dress a slither of cool silk against her legs. “Relax,” she said to Ross. “There’s still plenty of time.”

  “And it does make sense to visit Rosemary first.” Pat had misinterpreted the comment. “But it is a shame Dan’s seeing you before the ceremony. Is he downstairs, Ross? Let me look at him.”

  “He was running late,” Ross lied smoothly, “so I said I’d pick Jo up first and then go back for him.”

  “That’s not like Dan.” In the hall, Pat gave Jo the soft white stole that would keep her warm en route to the church. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be driving yet.”

  He wasn’t. Jo answered for Ross. “Something came up last minute on the farm, I expect.” Hold steady, she told herself, no wobbles. She draped the stole around her shoulders and gave her appearance a perfunctory check in the mirror.

  “Nip that in the bud right now,” warned Pat. “You don’t want Dan ending up like Herman. So how are the nerves, Jo?”

  She smiled. “I’m holding them at bay.”

  “By rights Jo should be a basket case,” Pat commented to Ross. “Her bridesmaid is missing in action, Tilly tore a flounce on her flower girl’s dress and Merry’s had to rush her to the dressmaker’s for emergency repairs. And what did Jo do this morning but go to work!”

  “Deadlines,” Jo said. “You learn to live with them.”

  Ross massaged the groove between his eyebrows. “Your bridesmaid’s missing?”

  “Not exactly.” Patiently, Jo waited for Ross to open the front door. “Delwyn sent a text to say her future happiness was at stake, that she’d meet us at the church and she knew I’d understand.”

  Pat frowned. “You’d think it could have waited.”

  “I do understand,” Jo said.

  Ross closed his eyes briefly, as if for strength, and finally reached for the door handle. In passing, Jo patted his forearm. “You look handsome.” He wore a suit like Dan’s, charcoal black, except without a waistcoat. Jo straightened his taupe tie. “I think Barry was right about this color.”

  Outside the day was still overcast and a light wind chilled her exposed skin. She refused to shiver.

  Ross had driven over in Dan’s ute; from here they’d travel in the bridal car, a white Daimler polished and decorated with white ribbons that had been delivered earlier.

  “I think I left a key in Dan’s car,” Jo said. “Won’t be a moment.”

  Walking over to the ute, she opened the driver’s door. As she’d hoped, Dan’s Swanndri hung over the front seat. Making sure she wasn’t seen, she leaned forward and pressed her nose into the wool, breathed deeply, then straightened, shut the door and returned to the Daimler. “Ready,” she said, pretending to close her beaded bag.

  “Let me grab my cam
era,” Pat said. “Jo, you look a picture. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

  “Good,” Ross muttered as they waited for Pat. “We might need a stand-in.”

  “That’s the best man’s job,” she deadpanned.

  He smiled suddenly, the harsh lines of his face relaxing. “You’ve heard from him. You wouldn’t be this calm otherwise.”

  “No.”

  Pat returned and snapped a couple of shots. Jo settled in the back of the car, fanning out her white skirt.

  “So rendezvous at the church in a few hours,” Pat said.

  Jo smiled. “See you there.”

  Ross eased into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Waving a cursory farewell to Pat, he pulled out of the driveway. “Whatever you’re taking, I want some.”

  “He’ll be here,” Jo said and shivered.

  Ross said nothing, but he turned the heat on high. “He’ll be here,” she repeated.

  “I don’t blame you,” he said, “I blame myself. You don’t know the Ureweras. I do. There’s plenty of hazards to trip up a guy in a hurry…I didn’t even leave him a goddamn compass.”

  “Don’t start melting on me now, Ice-cream.”

  “I hadn’t anticipated having to lie to his mother.”

  “A white lie. No point worrying anyone until…unless we have to. Now pull over and let me drive. I can see it’s painful for you.”

  As usual he ignored her. “If we haven’t heard from him by the time we get to the church I’m calling in a search party.”

  “When he’s thirty minutes late,” she said evenly, “you can start pushing alarm buttons. Until then you’re doing what I’m doing.”

  “What’s that?”

  She noticed her hands had clenched in her lap. Jo uncurled her fingers, laid them flat and wide on the silk georgette. “You’re believing in him, Ross.”

  * * *

  Dan stood on the bank studying the river. If water levels had been low he could have walked across; high he could have floated. Instead the river was neither one, which meant plenty of hazards lay hidden just under the surface.