Strike Force

by Beth Rhodes

  “She’ll be sad.”

  “She’ll be mad,” Malcolm corrected.

  Bert snorted a laugh. “True. But she’ll really be sad.”

  He nodded. “She’s got my phone number.”

  “She is scared.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why the hell are you leaving?”

  “So she can sort through what she wants without distraction.” Malcolm opened his car door. “To stay here. To come back across the country. To give up thieving—”

  “She’s never been a thief,” Bert said indignantly.

  “To find confidence in herself again. She is scared,” Malcolm agreed. “She thinks she’s responsible for the bad things that have happened.” Malcolm rubbed a hand across his mouth and swallowed hard. “Tell her for me: she’s not. I love her, and I’ll be waiting for her.”

  He didn’t wait then, as a funny feeling got stuck in his throat.

  In the rearview mirror, he saw Bert salute him with the piece of paper.

  ***

  “He left?”

  Uncle Bert handed over a folded piece of paper. “He said you’d be mad.”

  “Fucking A,” she said, as her hand fisted on the paper. She’d let weakness take over, doubt, uncertainty…and she’d avoided saying “I love you” since they were at the hospital. “Only a stupid-ass see-ya-later?”

  She tried to maintain the madness, but she was a big, fat fraidy-cat, because more than anything…she didn’t want to lose him. She’d lost before. She wasn’t sure she could do it again.

  A tear slipped out, and then another. But she took a deep breath and stemmed the flow. She had things to do here, a life to reconnect to, and people who loved her—right here. She was needed here. Had she ever really belonged with Hawk Elite?

  Straightening her shoulders, she turned to Uncle Bert and glanced around the kitchen she’d grown up in. “How are you feeling this morning, uncle? Would you like something to eat?”

  Her uncle had little enough time left in the world. She hadn’t forgotten. Damn the armband and its ridiculous legends. Uncle Bert was dying, and he didn’t need to spend it with a pathetic, broken-hearted, confused woman.

  Marie tucked the precious note into the pocket of her skirt.

  “Not too hungry,” Uncle Bert said with a shrug. “Let’s take a walk instead. Out to the cliffs, like old times.” He held out his thin, frail hand.

  She took it…

  …and held on for dear life.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Two Weeks Later

  “You have got to go back. You’re wasting your time out here, Marie,” he said, and then started coughing again. The hacking racked his body and shook his chair—and set her worry meter into the red zone.

  “I’ll decide what’s a waste of my time,” she said firmly, slamming her book down on the side table and getting up off the couch. “I like it here—”

  “Liar. You’re bored out of your gourd.”

  She bit back a laugh. “What the fuck does that mean, anyway?”

  “You’re thinking about him again. You say the F-word when you are.”

  Scoffing, she shook her head. “So what?”

  “Have you read his letter yet?”

  She hadn’t, and he knew it.

  Every time she tried, she chickened out.

  Malcolm called a couple times a week. He would let her know how things were going at Hawk Elite. She would talk about how peaceful it was on the coast.

  “I miss him.”

  Uncle Bert rolled his eyes and walked out into the kitchen, muttering something about stupid young people.

  Marie tapped the back pocket of her jeans. She was never without it. And today, she pulled it out and opened it with her eyes shut. What did she think? He would write a dear John letter to her?

  “Don’t be such a wuss!” she whispered, and forced her eyes to the paper, which had gotten far more wrinkled as she’d moved it from one outfit to the next. She straightened the edges and finally focused on the small, almost illegible handwriting.

  My Little Thief,

  She scowled, but it twitched into a smile.

  I’m working on an idea. It’s still in the planning stages (but it could possibly end with us in bed together, so I’ve made it a top priority). You exploded into my life, like that landmine from 2004, which almost took my fucking foot. I’ve spent most of the past year trying to fit you into the perfect little box. But I never could.

  She got nervous and started to fold the paper back up. She could always finish it later. Coward. Growling, she opened it again.

  Then you saved my life in Qatar. And you nudged your way into my thoughts, even when you weren’t around. And I began to wonder what you were doing on the weekends. How could I find out?

  Hawk noticed first—

  The sound of shattering glass cut her off, sending her heart rate pumping. “Uncle Bert?” she called out as she ran to the kitchen.

  Marie skidded to a stop inside the door. Her uncle was on the floor, a million pieces of glass surrounding him. Her boots crunched against the sharp edges. She couldn’t even roll him or she’d cut his flesh.

  The pulse in his neck was there, but weak. “Wake up, Uncle Bert,” she said, touching his face and his shoulder. Had he been getting worse and not told her? Had he been in pain?

  Was she so selfish that she wouldn’t see what was right in front of her face?

  Crouching, she curled her hands under his shoulders and lifted his torso. She shoved his weight on to her shoulder and got a foot under her. He’d lost so much body mass she was able to leverage him up and onto her back. Out the back door, and down the three steps, she opened the door to the old station wagon, set his feet on the ground, and rolled him into the back seat.

  She ran around to the other side, opened the door, and pulled him in farther, careful to keep his head free of the closing door. Then back to the other side, and she tucked his feet up.

  Driving like a madwoman, she raced up the coast to Providence Hospital. She pulled up to the emergency entrance and turned off her car, but immediately, someone stopped her.

  “You can’t park here, ma’am.”

  “Please, I need—”

  “I’m sorry, but this is where the vans pull in. I need you to move your vehicle.”

  “Sir! I have my uncle and he needs care, right now.”

  The man’s eyes widened and he reached for his side.

  She stepped back, her heart in her throat. But her brain registered the radio at his waist, and he was calling for help as she opened the back door to get her uncle.

  A young male nurse took him, laid him out on a gurney, and began a triage examination. They started rolling him away, and Marie followed.

  “Park your car, miss. I’ll tell you where to go when you get back,” the nice security guard said to her.

  She did what she was told, her heart in her throat.

  The next hour went by in a blur. They admitted him, and when she was finally able to see him, it was as if everyone knew him.

  “What’s going on? Is he going to be okay?”

  The nurse turned to her. “We’re going to get Mr. Bălan stabilized.”

  “You know my uncle?”

  The nurse’s eyes widened a little and then she smiled. “You must be Marie Feur. Come with me.” She strode confidently back out to the main area and led Marie to the desk. “Sarah, this is Marie Feur. She brought Bert in today. She needs to fill out some paperwork so she can go back and be with him.”

  Sarah smiled. “Got it,” she said. And then the first nurse was gone. The second nurse, this one a pretty blonde thirty-something, clicked through several screens on the computer before the printer behind her started whirring and spitting out paper.

  “Here we go—”

  “I’m sorry.” Marie finally gained some semblance of a brain, and she stopped. “How do you know my uncle?”

  “He’s been a regular in here for some time. Comes in
for the pain, usually—you know.” She leaned forward. “He talks about you all the time. Says you’re a secret agent for the government. Is it true?”

  Marie’s frown deepened. “Not exactly.”

  Sarah laughed. “He said you’d say that, too. Now, don’t worry. We’re taking very good care of Bert. Some of us are happy to see him here. It had been so long since his last visit…” Her voice faded and a blush rose on her face. Marie knew what she wasn’t saying, though. They’d wondered if he was dead. “But he has you home. He must be so happy.”

  Marie’s uncle was a regular at the hospital for pain. “How often does he come in here?” He’d told her he was fine and wasn’t getting treatment. The cancer was bad enough; he wasn’t going to add chemo and radiation to a lost cause. He’d never said anything about pain.

  “I guess we see him about once a week. Sometimes I wonder if it’s his only good night of a sleep he gets. We make him take stuff home, but you know these old guys. They don’t always do what they’re told. He’s known the end was coming, though. And he never doubted you would come home first. It was like he was waiting for you.”

  Shock. Panic. Fear scrambled her brains. And then anger sharpened it. Why hadn’t he told her it was so bad? He’d let her believe he had months left. She blinked back tears and blindly looked at the papers in her hand. “Where do I sign?”

  The hand on her shoulder offered comfort as she signed the papers to admit her uncle to the hospital, maybe for the last time.

  ***

  “She hasn’t answered her phone in a week. Bert hasn’t answered the landline in a week. Something is fucking wrong out there, and I need to go.” Malcolm stood in front of Hawk’s desk at headquarters. He didn’t admit the tracking device in the armband was at the hospital. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t go down Creeper Lane, but last night had been the last straw, and he’d finally given in. “The meeting with West Coast Security isn’t for another week, and I have a realtor looking at office space for us. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to go out there. I can contact West Coast Security. Lay some groundwork.”

  And see what the fuck was wrong that Marie couldn’t answer her fucking phone since Saturday. “I’m worried. Maybe her uncle took a turn for the worse.”

  “You’ve always been free to go,” Hawk said.

  “I know, but I—” Malcolm stopped. “I’m a stubborn ass who wanted her to call me, wanted her to make a decision about us. No pressure. You know?”

  Hawk lifted a brow. “Are you going to force her to do something she doesn’t want to do if you go out there?”

  “Fuck no, sir.”

  “Well then, I don’t know what you’re worried about. Go.” Hawk picked up his phone and stood. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

  “He’s still standing in front of your desk, sir,” Craig said behind Malcolm, knocking loose the shock. Hawk made it so simple.

  “No. No. I’m out of here,” Malcolm said, before anyone could change their mind or he could change his. Down the hall to the foyer, he found Josie waiting for him with an envelope.

  “Tickets,” she said. “I printed off the boarding pass so you don’t even have to wait in line.”

  “I could kiss you, Josie.”

  “Save it,” she said, sliding her glasses up on her nose as she went back to her seat. “And safe travels.”

  Fuck safe.

  He just needed fast.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  After he’d landed on the West Coast, the tracking device showed she’d finally gone back to Uncle Bert’s, so he drove there.

  The house was standing, so that was something. He pulled to a stop and got out of his rental truck, a big four-wheel-drive deal, which he despised on principle, but actually took the coastal roads much nicer than the compact had weeks ago.

  He took a deep breath, and the air calmed. She calmed him. Marie was here.

  He knocked on the front door.

  When no one answered, he opened it and walked in. The air inside was stale, musty, as if it had been closed for a while. He made his way back toward the kitchen, where he could hear the sound of running water and a radio playing country music.

  At the living room, he peeked in and found it empty.

  Across the room, in front of the window, a slip of paper sat on the floor. Curious, he walked over and picked it up—and saw his own handwriting.

  Had she even read it?

  He folded it back up and set it on the table under the window. Didn’t matter now. He was here. He touched the paper and moved through the dining room to the doorway of the kitchen. Marie stood with his back to her. Shattered glass covered the floor, and dark stains scattered across the tile—dried blood. “What the fuck happened here?”

  Marie screamed, turning to him with a broom in one hand, ready to strike. “Jesus, Malcolm. You scared the crap out of me. What are you doing here?”

  “What the fuck happened in here?”

  Why didn’t you call me? Why have you been at the hospital all week? Is Bert dead?

  “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “Why not?” he asked. “I said I was coming back.”

  She swept a path to him and set the broom aside. “I mean, right here, right now. I haven’t been home in a week. And the day I come back, you show up?”

  “Oh. Coincidence, believe it or not.” He paused. “And the armband. I turned on the tracking device in your armband, so I knew you weren’t at the hospital anymore.”

  Her mouth fell open. “I forgot.”

  He had an urge to touch her, but she stood there, staring at him, a smile on her face.

  “Marie—”

  “Mal—”

  They both stopped at the same time.

  She dropped the broom, and two steps later was in his arms.

  “Marie.” He sank his hands into her hair, which was down and long and soft and warm and… “Fuck, I’ve needed you so badly. Talk to me, Marie. Where’s Uncle Bert?”

  “He’s gone downhill. The cancer is winning—” She rubbed her nose against his chest. He took her face in his hands and tilted it up so he could see into her eyes. Resignation, but no fear, no sadness.

  He touched his forehead to hers.

  Her arms came up around his neck.

  “I thought I was too late,” he said. “Why haven’t you called me?”

  She bit her lip. “I…I don’t know. I should have. I’ve been playing this waiting game all week, thinking he was going to die. I couldn’t find it in myself to leave his side. I kept worrying that if I did, I’d lose him while I was gone. And my phone didn’t work in the room. I couldn’t—I couldn’t leave him.”

  “And today?”

  She blushed a little and smiled. “Nurse Ratched made me leave. Said if I didn’t, she was going to admit me herself, and then I’d be stuck on a different floor—the one for mental cases. She told me she’d call if absolutely anything happened. Anything at all. I made her pinky-swear.”

  “I’ll have to thank her.”

  Marie retreated, taking the broom back in her hand. “So, how long do you have before you leave again?”

  Malcolm took his time to answer, walking over to the kitchen table and sitting on the top. Marie continued to sweep, making a pile on the opposite side of the kitchen.

  She was happy to see him. She wouldn’t play at those emotions. But did she still want him? Had she figured out what she wanted?

  “Up to you.”

  She frowned. “It is?”

  He nodded. “Like I said in the letter—”

  She gasped. “Oh, wait.” She hurried out of the room and came right back. Piece of paper in her hand. “I never finished it. I was reading it—”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I want to!” Her eyes were so bright. “Do you know how many men write letters to me?”

  “It’s different if I’m sitting here, and it’s…um, awkward.”

  “Only for you.” She snickered. “Yo
u should see your face.” She held up a finger. “Give me a minute.”

  And then she was reading, her face tipped down to the letter.

  He squirmed at the thought of standing there while she read it. There weren’t that many words, so when two minutes became three and four and then five, he started to worry.

  “Marie?”

  But then she covered her face, and her shoulders shook as she cried.

  “No, no, no. You’re not supposed to cry.” He grabbed the letter and let it drop to the floor. “Forget everything in there. I didn’t mean a word of it.”

  She cried harder.

  “Fuck,” he said, and kissed her face, her lips. “I know you’re scared of that promise. But it’s mine to give. I can’t—” His voice broke. “I can’t give you any less, even if I wanted to. All I have is yours, Marie. See, because all this time I thought you had stolen my heart.” He looked into her eyes and found the answer to every question racing through his head since he’d left. “But I was wrong. Because you never had to steal it. It was always yours—given to you with no strings attached.”

  But her sobbing only got stronger.

  “I mean, you don’t have to love me.”

  Her phone rang. “Shit for timing. I’m sorry.” She answered, listened, and said, “I’ll be right there.”

  He knew before she even said anything, and was grabbing her coat from the hook. As he held her coat for her, he noticed she wore the armband. And he turned her, touching the armband, running his finger down the curl and grabbing her hand. “We’ll take the truck.”

  ***

  Malcolm pulled into the hospital parking lot and stopped at the entrance. “You go. I’ll park and meet you in there.”

  She gripped his hand even harder, but nodded, leaned in, and kissed him. “See you in a few,” he said.

  She jumped down then hurried in and to the elevators.

  She rode up with an older woman who had a pillbox hat on top of her shiny white hair. When they both moved to get off at the same floor, Marie smiled, letting the woman off first.