by Angel Payne
“I know, Slash.” The man’s voice conveyed real empathy. “And your concern was relayed to him.”
“What about the town?”
They were practically the first words out of Tait since shit had gone sideways. Though they were quiet, communicating the guy’s respect about the situation, they still made Kell want to indent T’s jaw with his fist. “What about the town?” He settled for a low snarl, instead. “Don’t you mean what about her? The stranger in the shroud for which you compromised the entire op? The squirrel that had you running so far off track, you nearly calculated a bullet to hit one of our friendlies?”
Franz shoved to his feet. “Sergeant Rush, that’s enough.”
“Squirrel.” Tait’s lips twisted. “That’s your little nickname for a woman now, huh, Kell? Well, did you see what that cocksucker did to that ‘squirrel?’ How she could barely take a step because of the damage he’d done to her?”
“To save them, you have to ignore them.” He drilled his glare into his friend, noticing for the tenth time in the last twenty-four hours that Tait’s eyes were really different now. Those dark gold depths used to sprout lasers of focus on a mission like this. Now, they looked like glazed donuts. “Compartments, T-Bomb. Remember those? They’re not just necessary for your sanity. They’re necessary for your efficiency.”
“And become a disconnected bastard like you?”
“You think every inch of my gut didn’t feel like barbed wire when I saw her face, too?” He pushed back his shoulders and squared his stance. “I thought you knew me, asshole. But I thought I knew you, too. The Tait Bommer I used to serve with wouldn’t have displaced his issues about one woman’s death by compromising an entire team mission.”
Tait narrowed his gaze. “You have no fucking clue about my issues—which I at least have the courage to look at. When was the last time you took anything inside you out of its ‘box,’ Kell?”
“When you’re out there,” —he jabbed a finger toward the window— “the shit stays inside the goddamn box!”
“Sure,” Tait scoffed, “if you want to be a robot.”
“Better a robot than a donut, assface.”
“What the fuck does that—”
“Enough.” Franzen’s bellow rattled the shoddily-installed window. Their CO crossed the office in three pounding steps, arms spread and face thunderous. “Corners.” He pointed to the opposing sides of his desk. “Now!” After they’d shuffled into place, he swung a glare between them. “What the hell happened to you two?” When he saw them both pulling in air for comebacks, he rammed out his arms again. “No. Forget it. I don’t want your whiny-ass excuses. It’s by the grace of the goddamn angels I’m not shipping both of you back to Lewis-McChord to pull a month’s worth of cleaning latrines with toothbrushes. You have Hayes to thank for that. Zeke rallied the Indonesian forces to a brilliant take-back on the police station, turning all those local boys into stud heroes who are probably all getting laid by willing partners as we speak.”
Kellan was compelled to ask his next question. “What about Sharif?”
“Bugged out into the jungle with his crew of rats. They’ll no doubt try to seize power again. They’ll be on high alert after this.”
Kellan nodded, processing the information. Even if he’d gotten Sharif, there was no guarantee the radicals wouldn’t make like cockroaches and grow another head to take the bastard’s place. But knowing the man still walked the earth, raping and extorting again, chafed at his spirit in the worst places.
Franzen didn’t give him long to wallow in the rage. The man turned around and braced himself against the desk between them, arms folded, head shaking. “Now I’m left with a dilemma. I can’t send your asses back to Tacoma, but I’m sure as hell not putting either of you back in action.”
Kellan shot up a glower, making no effort to hide his outrage. “Either of us? Wait a second. I’m not the one doing the twelve step program for grief here.”
Tait chuckled. “Stages. They’re called stages, man. The twelve step crap is for addiction.”
“My point exactly.”
“All right,” Franz snapped, “cut it out!” He huffed and leaned forward on the desk. “I’ve reffed spats more civilized than this between my keiki hanaunas.”
Tait’s scowl conveyed the perplexity for them both. “The fuck? Your what?”
“It’s Hawaiian for nephews, though I wish we also had a word for “brats” because it often applies to those two. But their bickering is a goddamn kumbaya hug compared to you dickwads.”
Kellan peered at him. “You’re Hawaiian?” The question was almost rhetorical. He clearly saw the heritage in the man’s swarthy features now.
“Half,” Franz explained. “My dad was German-English, but my mom was a full-blooded islander.” His eyes widened as if those words were actually news for him, too. “And that gives me an idea. A fucking brilliant one, if I say so myself.”
Kellan exchanged a glance with Tait that was oddly bonding due to its trepidation. Okay, many of Franzen’s “ideas” were notorious for being on the “brilliant” side, but many of them were a straightjacket buckle short of crazy. Why did he sense, and could see Tait agreed, that this one was going to slide into the second column?
“After my mom passed, we inherited her land,” Franz explained. “There’s a house and several acres not far from the beach on Kauai. It’s pretty. And secluded.” The man nodded at them. “And the perfect place to focus and get your shit together.”
Kellan felt his eyes widened as comprehension wound a sneaky path into him. “Whoa. Wait. Are you saying—”
“That the two of you have just earned yourself two weeks of mandated leave and a retreat vacation on the lovely garden island of Kauai? Ding ding ding; yep, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” He swung an arm toward the door. “Now go see the girl in the evening gown for your prize. Nah, kidding. I’ll give you all the details and directions.”
“Captain.” It was gratifying to see that Tait looked like he’d been sucker-punched, too. “You can’t be serious.”
“As a fucking heart attack.” As the man straightened and braced his legs wider, adopting a battle stance pose, it was hard for Kell not imagine the guy in one of those Polynesian loincloths with a chicken bone through his nose and a leaf crown on his head. The image did not help his amazement about this. “You two get your asses onto that beach and fix your heads, or I’ll execute a mental health leave for you both faster than you can say Aloha, pupule ’uku.”
Kellan sucked in a breath. This had to be some surreal illusion, though his rising fury was very real. And his fear. As a sniper, getting his ass pulled on a psych disability probably meant he wouldn’t shoot at the elite military level again. Which meant he was hauling said ass onto a plane for Hawaii as soon as he could, with T-Bomb along whether he liked it or not.
Hell.
He wished Franzen had simply brought the knife and bucket.
* * * * *
Two nights later, paradise still felt like hell.
He wondered if Tait agreed. Actually, he wondered if Tait was capable of forming a coherent thought. The empty vodka, bourbon, and tequila bottles around the house gave him good reason to assume otherwise.
The guy’s slide into oblivion had begun about two hours into their commercial flight to Honolulu, after a steady flow of Luna photos and an iPod full of music that had been special for the two of them. Thank fuck neither of them were in uniform, because Kell was certain by the time they boarded the puddle jumper to Lihue, Tait’s blood alcohol level had revised the T in his call-sign to stand for Toxic.
On top of all that, hurray of all hurrays, they had to stop and pick up the keys to Franz’s place from his buddy Kaipo—who owned the local liquor store. Fifty bucks later, they walked out with at least a hundred G’s worth of hootch, thanks to the man referring to Franz as his hoaloha, his brother in everything but blood. Really. Fucking. Awesome. Kell had rolled his eyes, climbed into their rental, an
d hoped that T endured such a brain-blaster of a hangover that he left the bottles in the bags for the rest of their stay.
So much for hoping.
After indulging in a late afternoon nap, Kell awakened to notice a couple of the bags from Kaipo’s place were only half full now. After shrugging into a shirt but not buttoning it, he took several conscious breaths, concentrating on tamping his wrath enough to search for his friend. His partner? Battalion mate? What the hell were they to each other these days? And why should he care, when it was clear Tait didn’t?
Might as well resign yourself to that psych card now, man.
“Olly olly oxen free,” he grumbled into the thickening twilight. “Ready or not, asshole, here I come.”
First things first. He made a mental note to call Franzen out as the biggest liar of the year when he’d told them his house was “not far” from the beach. Less than fifty paces down a flagstone path, Kell found himself ankle-deep on a stretch of pristine white sand that sloped down to gentle waves glowing deep purple beneath the clouds of a waning thunderstorm. Deciding he’d at least enjoy himself while following a self-imposed APB on his friend, he started down the beach.
Less than a quarter mile later, he spotted a figure sitting on the sand in a slump…tipping a bottle to his lips. Kellan sighed and trudged toward his friend. As he drew near, Tait slanted a glance up at him. He couldn’t figure out whether the brief gleam in the guy’s gaze was scrutiny or greeting, but he didn’t care. A gleam meant there might still be something to work with, conversationally speaking. And if they could talk, maybe they could start working on things. So what if T likely wouldn’t remember it tomorrow morning? Maybe it would feel like progress. Maybe.
Kell dug his heels into the sand and rocked back on them. “So are we having fun yet?”
Tait looked down the neck of Mr. Grey Goose then tipped up the bottle again. “Is that…a trick question?”
Kell was surprised the words weren’t more slurred. On the other hand, maybe T was well-practiced at the binge drinking game by now. “You look like a damn hobo.”
“Uh huh.” Tait belched. “So do you. Only…I’m the cute hobo.”
He’d probably said it to diffuse things with a laugh. Kell couldn’t give him what he wanted. As he stared down at the shell of what used to be his best friend, he could barely manage any reaction outside a short grunt. He wanted to punch the bastard. He wanted to hug him. He wanted to fight for him. He wanted to fucking give up.
“What’s going on, Tait?” he muttered. “What the hell are you doing?”
At first, all he received was one of those long, somber silences the guy had down to an art form. That was fucking terrific for the mood…not.
“Me?” T growled at last. “Just watching the sunset, dude.” Surprisingly, he extended his free hand, his fingers weaving and grabbing at the air. “And…wanting to touch it.”
Kellan studied his friend carefully. Christ. Was T concocting shit from thin air now? His eyes had surpassed donuts for the glaze factor, and Kell couldn’t tell if it was delusion or tears. “Are you serious?”
Tait nodded slowly. “It looks like her hair…doesn’t it? I—I miss her hair.”
He looked out past T’s hand with fresh consideration. Of course. The thunderheads from the storm, now streamlined by the wind into black ribbons, were interspersed with the lavender and purple glow from the fading sunset.
He did the conscious breathing thing again, but the technique was growing thin as his patience. “It’s pretty. I’m going to give you that.”
“It’s beautiful. Just like she is.”
“Just like she was.” Screw the Zen shit. It was time for an old-fashioned dose of tough love, perhaps for both of them. He stepped forward, swiped the bottle out of Tait’s hand, and gave it a hard Hail Mary into the palm trees. The waves etched on the bottle were caught by the light reflecting off the real swells behind him, deep purple and gold, before it flipped over and dropped into the foliage. “Just like she was, Tait,” he repeated from bared teeth. “It’s time to wake the fuck up and let her go.”
Tait swayed to his feet and glowered into the trees. Back at him. Into the trees. He was wearing a snarl when he swung toward Kell again. “What the fuck did you do that for?” His voice dragged on the f in the profanity. It was the perfect fuel for Kell’s indignation, at just the right time.
“Did you hear anything I just said?” he fired. “Do you remember anything of what Franzen told us before we got banished here?” He stomped over to Tait, sand flying in his wake. “If you don’t get your shit together, you’re taking me down with you. And goddamnit, Tait, that makes me seriously crave to drive my fist down your throat right now.”
He grabbed the drunken bastard by the neckline of his T-shirt, forcing himself to ignore the agony in Tait’s features. A year ago, this guy could’ve been the poster boy for golden surfing god. With his flirtatious smile and whip of a wit, Tait Bommer could walk into any bar and have half the women pickpocketing his phone in order to program in their digits. Now, he literally hung in Kellan’s grip, lips twisting in heartbreak, tears brimming in his eyes.
“I loved her.” He pulled in a wracking gasp. “I loved her, Kell.”
“And I don’t care.” He added his other hand to the hold. “I can’t care. And damn it, I’m here to make you see that you can’t anymore, either.”
He saw that hit a target in the guy. Tait’s eyes screwed shut. He yanked at one of Kell’s wrists. “Get away from me.”
Kellan tightened his grip, digging his feet deeper into the sand to back it up. “No fucking way. I’m not going anywhere.” As the words left his tight lips, new understanding blared into him. “It’s why Franz sent me here with you, asshole. He knew I’d be the only one who wouldn’t. That I’d refuse to see you ruin yourself like this. And your career—”
“My career.” Tait fired a bitter laugh. “Yeah. My goddamn career. Going back to that worked out real well, didn’t it?” He flung his head from side to side. “My career is fucking poison. I’m fucking poison. My choices that day…led Luna to that soundstage…and put her in that coma…”
“No, T. Her choices. What Luna did was heroic—but it was her choice to run with that bomb. Her decision, made with full knowledge of what the consequences could be.” He grabbed Tait’s head and lined their stares up together. “Listen to me. If it’d been the other way around, do you think you’d want her doing this? Pining for you like this?”
“It should have been the other way around.” Tait jerked his head away and let out an open growl. “Don’t you see? It should have been me. I should have died! They pay me to die, damn it!”
Each word bashed Kellan like a brick laced with lead. He released Tait and stumbled back from the impact. “Is that how you really feel?” he grated. “So…taking the fast track to pickling your liver is just your way of telling me to let you die? You’re going to throw away all the good you’ve done for this world, and all the good you still have left to do, because of one fucking woman?”
Tait laughed again. The sound was softer this time, like he’d heard the punch line to a joke Kell couldn’t possibly understand. “Therapy session’s done for the night, Doctor Rush.”
He turned and started for the water but raw rage spurred Kell to chase him and seize him by the shoulder. “The fuck it is.”
Tait stopped. Swiveled his face, carved in hard angles of rage and misery, back at Kell. “Get your hand off me. I said we’re done.”
Kellan took his turn to get in a smug laugh. Right before doubling the pressure of his grip.
Tait reacted how he’d hoped. As the guy’s fist drove into his gut, he reminded himself that just like Luna, he’d asked for this. And aside from the pain, this was pretty damn good, at least for a start. Getting Tait to get mad at anything besides himself and God was a step in the right direction. Besides, the guy was shitfaced. That much was evident when Kell was able to knock T to his back with one well-placed head butt
to the ribs. With one, maybe two more moves, he’d have the guy pinned, seething, and finally experiencing life outside his grief for the first time in six months.
Maybe they really were getting somewhere.
It was the last cohesive thought in his brain before the damn thing was flipped along with the rest of him. The forced body roll had him catching air before landing flat on his back in the sand. Good Christ. How had Tait pulled that move out of his half-tanked ass?
Easy answer: he hadn’t.
T’s grunt came from the sand directly next to Kell’s head, prompting him to glance at his friend. Tait was still in the prone position in which Kell had dumped him. But now, Tait’s stare was riveted on something over both their heads. And shit was he transfixed. As in, not audibly breathing because of the damn trance.
Kellan followed the guy’s line of sight—and said good-bye to the air in his own chest.
The moon had just peeked over the ocean, outlining the woman’s curves in stunning silver clarity. Holy fuck. The last time God made figures like that, he gave them the names of goddesses like Brigitte, Marilyn, Raquel, and Sophia. The black bikini on this deity—because that was seriously what she must be—left little to doubt about her place right next to those icons of sensuality. Endless, strong legs. Soft, graceful shoulders. Full, amazing breasts. A waist with curves that all but demanded his mind to join them in fantasies of pulling her close, bending her back, sinking his lips to the beautiful column of her neck…
He wouldn’t stop there, of course. Why would he when her brilliant, nearly silver gaze ordered direct contact from his, commanding his respect like a queen of ancient mythos? She had the shimmering waterfall of hair to back that part up, too. It was so black that as the moon climbed higher in the sky, it reflected the light as streaks of silver and lavender. Hell…just like the clouds at sunset that Tait had desperately wanted to touch. He couldn’t believe he was admitting it, but shit did he understand the fantasy now. With painful intensity…