The One Worth Waiting For

by Alicia Scott

  Garret shook his head. “I’m leaving. Zlatko wants me, and he’ll keep searching until he finds me. I think it would be easier if I found him first.”

  “What did you do?” Cagney asked curiously.

  “I betrayed him,” Garret admitted simply.

  Cagney scoffed at that. “Hell, Garret, you’re the most loyal person I know.”

  Garret nodded, a grim smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Precisely the problem.”

  Cagney looked confused, but for some inexplicable reason, Garret didn’t feel like explaining. He didn’t want to talk to Cagney about it. He wanted Suzanne.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said shortly. “Sooner or later. I suppose there’s a note.”

  Cage nodded, reaching into his shirt pocket. “Mom handed me this. She’s crying, Garret. Do you know the last time Mom cried?”

  Garret nodded, wondering if he could feel any worse. He accepted the note and stuck it in his own pocket. “Was anything saved?”

  “Couple of things. Your “friend” must’ve intended this only as a warning, because he woke Mom and Dad by throwing a stone tied with this note through the window. Of course, he’d already started the fire by then, but at least they were able to get out of the house. You know Mom—she made Dad grab Grandma’s rocker and she snatched her jewelry box. I pulled a lot of the living room stuff out.

  “But I don’t think that’s what Mom’s worried about, Garret. She hasn’t seen you for nearly a year. And now she’s getting notes on her dining room table and someone sets her house on fire. They have insurance, so they can rebuild the house. What she really wants is her son.”

  “Tell her I’m all right,” Garret said. “Tell her I get out of trouble now as well as I ever did and that I’ll see her in a week or two.”

  “Garret, I don’t want to give her messages. I want to find this guy, Zlatko, so I can simply give her you.”

  “No.”

  “No? Garret, I’m your damn brother. And in case you haven’t noticed it yet, I have a star on my chest. I can do a thing or two, you know.”

  “I know,” Garret said levelly. Then he grinned and pointed at his eye. “You’ve got a good right hook, too.” Then he sobered. “This is personal, Cagney. I need to take care of it myself.”

  The sound of footsteps reached them, and Marina nodded toward an approaching fire fighter.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you, Garret,” she said softly, “but I think you’d better leave now. Don’t worry. Cagney and I will take care of things here.”

  Garret looked at her, taking in her exotic beauty, and flashed his brother a knowing grin. He nodded to her, then crossed quickly back to the bordering field of grass, seeming to disappear before their very eyes.

  Marina looked impressed, but Cagney simply shook his head and swore.

  Chapter 12

  Garret couldn’t find her in the house, though her car was still parked in the driveway. Her bedroom was empty, the living room, the kitchen. His room was empty.

  He felt the first twinge of foreboding and began to search in earnest. Not the first floor, not the second floor. Maybe on the third? But the house only rang with the sound of her name, the rooms revealing no one.

  He came downstairs in a flurry, wondering how he could have been so stupid. Zlatko had left the site of the fire, meaning he could have easily come here.

  Garret felt the beginnings of panic and fumbled for the note he’d stuffed in his pocket. With trembling hands, he unfolded the thin paper.

  Do you still remember the flames, the way they licked at your skin, before I pulled you from the building? I remember, prijatelj. I remember the flames and I remember the fury. Tonight, I fed the fire a snack. Tomorrow, it will be a meal.

  He stared at the paper for a long time and felt the dread ripple like a snake down his spine. Suzanne. God, not her. He began tearing through the house with a vengeance.

  But still there was no one.

  He was about to put his fist through the wall in frustration when he suddenly noticed a thin beam of light in the backyard. Adrenaline pounding, he raced for the back door.

  Suzanne.

  She was on her knees in the garden, her white cotton gown now smeared with rich dirt as she worked the soil by the light of an upturned flashlight. She’d knotted her hair up, revealing the long, graceful column of her neck. As she bent down and tended her roses, she looked beautiful and ethereal.

  His steps slowed and he swallowed hard. With the softness of a cat, he approached. She didn’t look up until he blocked her light.

  “The fire?” she asked softly, her gaze falling back down to the mixture of ash and loam she was mixing into the soil around her roses. She continued kneading the ground with her pale fingers.

  “The house is gone,” he said hoarsely. Her hands stilled, then dug back into the earth.

  “Your parents?”

  “They’re okay, I guess. For people who just watched all their belongings burn.”

  She simply nodded and kept working. “Your parents are very strong.”

  “They shouldn’t have to be this strong!”

  She didn’t say anything at all, but moved on to the next bush. He remained standing, feeling the raw ache in his chest and wishing she would stop tending her damn flowers and really look at him.

  “Suzanne, the fire was my fault, directed at me. And until I find Zlatko, things will only get worse. I remember, Suzanne. I know what happened.”

  Abruptly, her hands stilled and then just as abruptly, dug deeply into the dark pungent earth with a harsh, compulsive motion. “So now you know everything?” she whispered, still not looking up.

  “Yes, damn it.” He continued staring at the back of her head, but even with the full force of his glittering black gaze he could not make her stop. He squatted beside her, needing her to look at him, needing her to understand what he was about to tell her. “I was in Sarajevo,” he said hoarsely, his eyes intent upon her. “I went first on my leave just to volunteer as a fire fighter and maybe do some good. But then Intelligence approached me. Despite the embargo, weapons were still being smuggled into the country, fueling the war. They wanted to know how and by whom this was being accomplished. Then, if the UN or the U.S. became more involved, we would know where to start. So instead of going back to my team, I stayed, fighting fires during the day, making contacts and doing some probing at night.”

  “I’m sure you did the right thing,” Suzanne said stiffly, her eyes still on her roses. They smelled sweet in the night air, soft and comforting. When all else failed, she still had her roses.

  “Suzanne, I lived with these people for a year. I ate with them, I talked with them. I trained the men to fight fires. And they shared with me when they had so little to share. Food, medicine, laughter, it didn’t matter.” His voice was low and intense, but she couldn’t bring herself to look up.

  “And then one day,” he whispered behind her, “one day, we came back from the city, and they were all dead, scattered like fallen leaves all over the camp. The women, the children…Zenaisa.”

  His voice broke and she felt her eyes sting. Vehemently, she dug her fingers into the ground. It wasn’t her war and it wasn’t her story and she didn’t want to get any more involved. Garret would do his own thing anyway. He’d been taking care of himself for a long time, and now that his memory had returned…

  “I’m trained to fight,” Garret said quietly behind her. “I’m trained to kill. But I didn’t protect anyone in that camp. Instead, I led the men away so the butchers’ job was that much easier to do.”

  The raw self-condemnation in his voice tore at her. The first tear trickled down her cheek, but she didn’t, she wouldn’t, look up. She just bent over her roses, watering the ground with her tears as she had done so many years ago.

  “Suzanne?”

  She stared hard at the ground.

  “I wanted to kill them, Suzanne,” he whispered hoarsely. She could feel his eyes burning into her
neck, raw and needful. “So help me God, I wanted to find every last one of the men who’d destroyed the camp and kill them with my bare hands. And then Zlatko got up and said he knew how to get revenge. He knew how to get weapons if we could just get the cash.

  “All of us chipped in, myself included, to buy the guns. Because we all wanted revenge, I, as much as the others. Except it wasn’t my war and it wasn’t my job. My job was to observe, not to participate. Even now, I’m not allowed to participate.”

  He turned away, and she was grateful for the respite. Her cheeks burned with her tears; her stomach ached with her need. She wanted so badly to go to him and hold him against her. But he was leaving, and she’d already given him so much. She didn’t know how to hold him without loving him even more. And she didn’t know how to bear that kind of pain. God, she just wanted it to end.

  She wiped her cheeks fiercely, smearing long smudges of soil across her face. “I’m sure you did the right thing,” she said at last. Ruthlessly, she picked up the pruning shears and attacked the first bush. Behind her, she heard his mirthless laugh and her hands trembled.

  “The right thing? The right thing? And what would that be, Suzanne? Go AWOL to help my friends, or serve my country?”

  She flinched at the vehemence in his voice and clipped off an entire branch.

  “Damn it, Suzanne! Would you just look at me!”

  “No,” she muttered defiantly. “What do you want from me, Garret? What do you want me to say? I don’t know what you want.”

  He grabbed her shoulder and forcefully turned her around, the shears falling to the ground. His dark eyes blazed, his jaw rigid with intensity. “I couldn’t do it, Suzanne. I looked at Zlatko, wounded in that cave, and I knew I couldn’t help him, but I knew I couldn’t betray him, either. So I told him I was an undercover naval officer on a mission. And then I turned and walked away. From everything.”

  She looked at him in anguish. “It was the best you could do.”

  “No, it was the worst. Zlatko went nuts. He jumped me, hitting me and calling me every traitorous name he could think of. I had to knock him unconscious to get away. Now, he’s gone off the deep end, convinced I’m the root of all evil. And maybe I am. I let my friends down. I let my country down. What’s left after that? Suzanne, tell me what’s left!”

  She couldn’t bear it anymore. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling him shudder in her embrace. He buried his face against her neck, his large shoulders shaking from the doubts and the strain. All his life, he’d lived by a few simple maxims. And suddenly black and white were gone, and he lived now in a wasteland of grays.

  “You did what you had to do,” she whispered in his ear. “It’s all right now, Garret. It’s all right.”

  He held her tighter, and she felt the tears on her cheeks once more. She hated the fact that he had to feel such pain. Why couldn’t she just soothe it away? Why couldn’t she just keep him?

  His head came up, and he kissed her hungrily.

  “I need you,” he whispered, delving his tongue into her mouth. “I need you, Suzanne.”

  “I know, I know,” she said, kissing him back just as fiercely. Her hands tangled in his hair, smoothing around his corded neck. “Garret…I…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words, so instead, she kissed him harder.

  “Zlatko will find you sooner or later,” Garret warned her starkly. “I have to go and find him first. You understand that, don’t you?”

  She nodded, feeling her eyes burn even more. “In the morning, okay? Just give me until then.”

  He answered by swinging her up into his arms and carrying her upstairs.

  In the velvety black-and-white shadows of her room, he ripped off her thin gown, and she yanked his own shirt free, throwing it to the floor so she could smooth her hands down the rippling muscles of his arms. He looked so strong and sculpted in the dim moonlight. More man than she could ever have wanted.

  And she liked the way he felt and the way he held her. She liked the morning when she’d awakened in his arms and he’d rolled over and snuggled close.

  Remember this, she told herself as she caressed his lips with her own. Remember this touch, this smell, this taste. Remember the way his hair feels in your hands, the way his cheeks rasp across your own. Who knows when you will ever feel such things again.

  She closed her eyes and pressed her body against his. Then her hands found the waistband of his jeans. This time, there was no hesitation when she unsnapped the denim. She tugged the rough material from his hips as her right, because she was his lover and she wanted him.

  When his hands cupped her breasts, she arched back freely, offering herself to his touch. His rough thumbs sent shivers down her spine, and she moaned, her cry low and encouraging. “Yes, Garret. Like that. Just like that.”

  He took her nipple into his mouth, and she wanted to weep from the pleasure. Instead, she raked her hands through his hair and held him close. He was so beautiful to her. Everything she’d ever wanted, ever dreamed of all those nights so long ago.

  She dragged his head back up and kissed him deeply, her nails raking fiercely down his back. In response, he drew up her leg and wrapped it around his waist, pressing her intimately against him. She didn’t shy away, but rubbed against him suggestively. He groaned roughly from the movement and she took pleasure in the sound.

  With open, honest eyes, she caressed his chest, explored his arms. His own gaze was black and intense, boring into her. He reached up and plucked the first hairpin from her hair. Two more, and the long, silk strands of her hair cascaded down, caressing her shoulders. He plunged one hand through, massaging her scalp as she arched her neck in appreciation.

  He picked up a handful of her hair, then released it to sweep back down once more. “You have beautiful hair,” he murmured gruffly. “Shiny and silky and…beautiful.”

  She shook her head, but reveled in his touch anyway. She moved her hips, feeling his hard, thrusting length so close. Shivers raced up and down her spine, goose bumps popping up on her arms. She stood on tiptoe, positioning him even more intimately. Suddenly, he lifted her up from beneath the arms, wrapping her other leg around his waist.

  With slow, muscle-flexing control, he eased her down onto him, watching her eyes turn molten with the heat. She enveloped him completely, tight and warm and moist. Thighs rippling with the strain, he rolled his hips and heard her gasp. It was a beautiful sound on her lips.

  Her eyes darkened, her hands gripping his shoulders. He could see the throbbing blue pulse on her neck, watch her bend back with the building passion.

  Her nails dug into his upper arms, moisture beading her brow. He thrust deeper, faster, and the look on her face nearly drove him over the edge.

  At the last minute, he pulled out completely, hearing her cry out her disappointment. “The condom,” he grated. “Just give me a minute, sweetheart.”

  His hands were trembling so badly, his body coiled so tautly, he could barely get the foil packet out of his jeans pocket. In the end, she took it from his shaking fingers and tore the wrapper open herself.

  In contrast, her hands were amazingly steady as she grasped him with one hand and rolled the condom on. Then she gripped his shoulders and drew him down onto the bed, her shapely; voluptuous legs wrapping around his waist once more.

  He thrust into her without preamble and it happened for her with one gasping cry, her teeth biting into her lip. He thrust again, then again, then again, and tumbled over the precipice with a roar.

  He buried his face in her neck and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him close. She refused to relinquish her grip when he tried to take his weight off later, and after a moment, he gave in with a sigh.

  Still buried deep within her, he fell asleep. But Suzanne remained awake far into the night. Stroking his back and hoarding the memories.

  Eight miles away, the sound of shattering glass tinkled through the silent night. The large, dark form cleared the rest of the jagged
edges from the window and climbed easily inside. Then starting with the appointment book, he worked his way through Dr. Jacobs’s office.

  * * *

  Suzanne opened her eyes as the mattress unexpectedly sagged. Strong, muscled arms left her as Garret climbed out of bed. She didn’t say anything, simply remained lying on her side and staring at the window as she heard him stop and pull on his jeans. Quiet footsteps, then the sound of the house’s old pipes groaning to life.

  She sat up in bed. Judging by the sun shining through the window, it was later than her usual 5:30 rising time. Her eyes still felt heavy, and her thighs sore. She ignored both as she climbed out of bed.

  Her bare feet settled on the hardwood floor and she took in the sight of their clothes scattered messily across the room. Leave it, she told herself. She had the rest of her life to spend cleaning.

  She found her old terry-cloth robe, belted it around her waist and then pattered downstairs. Behind her, the pipes groaned more loudly as the shower came to life. In the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator and methodically went to work.

  When Garret came down fifteen minutes later, still buttoning his shirt, she was flipping over the fifth piece of French toast. He stopped in the doorway, taking in her tangled brown hair and thick, fuzzy robe. She threw another piece of egg-soaked bread into the frying pan without looking up.

  “You didn’t have to do this,” he said at last, the words husky.

  “You should eat,” she said simply. “You’ll need your strength.”

  “Suzanne?”

  The spatula froze in the air, and for one moment, he could see her hand tremble. “What, Garret?”

  “I’ll go get the table,” he found himself saying. They weren’t the words he wanted, but he couldn’t seem to find any others. She nodded, the spatula moving again, and he headed down the hall to the back porch.

  He took down the protective sheets without allowing himself to think. He laid them over the railing, then picked up the shiny table. He should have made chairs to match. Or maybe a leaf. He didn’t know.