Course of Action: Crossfire

by Lindsay McKenna;Merline Lovelace

  Although Pete had conversed only briefly with this woman at the wedding, her animosity toward her “selfish bitch” of a daughter had come through loud and clear. The little that Riley had subsequently revealed about her relationship with her mother underscored the fact they weren’t close. Which begged the question...

  “Does Riley know you’re in Oman, Ms. Fairchild?”

  “No.”

  When he lifted a brow, she offered a stilted explanation. “I was on a private yacht in the Caribbean. Her people didn’t notify me of the kidnapping until the day after it happened. By the time we put into port and I’d made arrangements to fly to Muscat, the media was already broadcasting news of her rescue.” The pale ovals of her nails tapped against the glass. “I texted my daughter and told her I would come. Several times. She didn’t reply.”

  “Riley mentioned that her PR team was fielding an avalanche of Tweets and texts and emails,” Pete said diplomatically.

  “Please, Sergeant...?”

  “Winborne.”

  “Sergeant Winborne. Don’t patronize me. Since you’re staying here, with my daughter, I assume you know that she and I aren’t on the best of terms.”

  “So why did you fly over?”

  “Because you’re staying here, with my daughter.”

  “You want to elaborate a little on that?”

  The question was easy, the steel behind it wasn’t. Pursing her lips, she countered with one of her own.

  “Exactly how long have you known Riley, Sergeant?”

  “We met at the wedding.” No need to tell her they didn’t exactly hit it off that first time. “I didn’t see her again until the attack on the opera house.”

  “I see.” Her nails danced against the glass again. “And at anytime during this long acquaintance has Riley mentioned Austin Mahler?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “No, I don’t suppose she would.”

  Pete rolled his shoulders in a careless shrug. “If this Mahler character matters, she’ll get around to telling me about him in her own time.”

  “Oh, he matters. Or did. He was engaged to my daughter until I discovered he was using her name as collateral for unsecured loans. He was also trying to arrange concert appearances without consulting her.”

  “And I’m guessing you couldn’t wait to expose him.”

  The drawled response carried an unmistakable barb. When it hit, a flush tinged Meredith Fairchild’s cheeks. “You’re right, I couldn’t. Although Riley’s made it abundantly clear she doesn’t want me in her life, she is my daughter. I couldn’t allow her to be taken in by that man. Or,” she added after a deliberate pause, “anyone else.”

  “Which is what you think I’m doing.”

  “Quite honestly, I’m not sure. But neither can I ignore the fact that she’s an extremely wealthy woman.”

  And Pete was an Air Force E-7. Even with hazardous duty, flight and combat pay, he doubted he made as much as one of Riley’s gofers. The unspoken comparison hung in the air, but he was damned if he’d acknowledge it.

  Meredith Fairchild must have sensed the dangerous ground she was on, however. Her chin tilting, she offered a stiff apology. “I’m sorry if that offends you, Sergeant. I’m merely trying to look after my daughter’s best interests.”

  “Here’s a flash. As I told you a few minutes ago, she’s more than capable of looking after her own interests. She proved that in the desert.”

  He’d listened to all he intended to. Disgusted, he started to push away from the table. She stopped him with a quick hand on his arm.

  “Wait! Please!” She shook her head, as if to clear it, and took another tack. “From what I heard and saw on TV, you and Riley and Prince Malik went through a terrible ordeal. But you and the prince are soldiers. You...”

  “No.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “We’re not soldiers. Soldiers are ground pounders. The prince is an air marshal and I’m an airman. A pararescueman, to be precise.”

  “I stand corrected,” she said with obvious impatience. “The point I’m trying to make is that you and the prince have been conditioned physically and emotionally to handle dangerous situations. My daughter has not. Isn’t it possible that whatever she feels—or thinks she feels—for you now may be colored by what you went through?”

  Dammit all to hell! Pete had just suggested the exact same thing to Riley out there on the beach. At the time it had sounded cautious and wise. Now it sounded like horse crap. What she said next hit home, though. And once again she echoed his thoughts.

  “I know I come across as unfeeling and manipulative, Sergeant. Perhaps I am. My daughter certainly thinks so. Yet I’ve always—always—been in awe of her talent. It’s a gift, one I wouldn’t allow her to squander.” She lifted a hand, let it drop. “I drove her unmercifully when she was young. I admit it. And I lost her because of it. I accept that as the price for bringing her incredible talent to the world stage.”

  She leaned forward. Her coldness fell away for a moment, leaving her face naked and vulnerable.

  “She’s just beginning to reach her peak. Whatever you do, please don’t prevent her from achieving her full potential by derailing her career at this crucial point.”

  Derail...as in encourage her to accept a “guest artist-in-residence” position for a year or more, which she was prepared to do. Or had been prepared to do before he’d made such a mess of things.

  “Wait here.” Shoving back his chair, he gathered his hat and the towel. “I’ll go up and let Riley know you’re here.”

  The hotel didn’t run to an elevator. The worn wooden stairs creaked under Pete’s weight, adding a counterpoint to the slap of his flip-flops as he climbed the two flights to their floor. But the tightness in his chest had nothing to do with the stairs.

  He knew about training. About constantly striving to achieve the next level of proficiency. More than any other branch of Special Ops, PJs had to stay on top of their game. And as a senior member of that elite fraternity, Pete worked as hard as the youngest recruit to maintain his mental and physical stamina.

  Granted, combat rescue was about as far from the opera world as anyone could get. Yet he fully appreciated the blood, sweat and tears Riley had shed to reach this point in her career. What’s more, he didn’t need her mother to drive home the fact that she hadn’t achieved her full potential yet. She was so young, so vibrant, with a voice that could bring even a combat-hardened air commando like him to his knees. The thought of being the reason she put her talent on hold, let her skills get rusty, made his chest hurt.

  It was still aching when he rapped a knuckle on the door, then used his key to let himself in. The room was about a tenth the size of the bedroom at the royal villa, but its shuttered window opened to the sea during the day and the stars at night.

  Riley was at the window now. Her arms folded and her eyes cool, she merely nodded when Pete said her mother had arrived.

  “I saw the limo drive up. I’m surprised it took her this long to make a show of maternal concern.”

  “She was on a yacht in the Caribbean.”

  “Of course she was.”

  “She said she texted you. Several times.”

  “I know. I had Jason respond. Obviously not plainly enough. I’ll go down and deal with her.”

  When she dropped her arms and started to brush past him, Pete caught her elbow. “Before you do, I just want to say that I’ve done some stupid things in my life. The pompous lecture I delivered on the beach a while ago is pretty near the top of the list.”

  She looked up at him, surprised and just a little wary.

  “I was wrong about everything, Slim, except one issue. I’m not going to let you put your career on hold because of me.”

  “You’re not going to let me?”

  “No. I’m not accepting the job here in Oman.”

  She pulled her elbow free, but instead of the flash of temper he expected, a mask seemed to drop over her face. Her eyes
went flat and her answer when it came was slow, careful and cold.

  “That, of course, is your decision.”

  “Yeah, it is. The way I figure it, if we’re going to take a shot at something real, we can’t start off by compromising. We have to give it everything we’ve got.”

  “Interesting.” Her small shrug cut right through him. “The way I figure it, we shouldn’t start off by making unilateral decisions. You’ve made yours, however. Now I’ll have to make mine.”

  She didn’t slam the door behind her.

  He wished to hell she had.

  Chapter 9

  When Riley entered the tiny alcove that served as the hotel’s lounge, the mask she’d crafted to hide her uncertainties and loneliness during her turbulent childhood was firmly in place.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  “There you are.”

  She got a half concerned, half resigned glance from beneath her mother’s broad-brimmed black hat.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you slipped out the back door when you heard I was here.”

  “I considered it. Why are you here?”

  “Is it too difficult to believe I was worried about you?”

  “Jason said he spoke with you personally and assured you I was all right.”

  “I prefer not to get updates on your welfare from your business manager.” Irritation flickered across her flawless, unlined face. “Oh, do sit down. Can’t we at least have a civil conversation?”

  Riley remained standing. Their last “civil” conversation had ended with her mother snarling that she was an ungrateful bitch and threatening legal action to recoup a portion of the hundreds upon hundreds of thousands she’d spent on her daughter’s professional development.

  “What did you say to Pete, Mother?”

  Riley watched her consider and discard several possible replies before cutting to the bone.

  “I expressed my concern about where you are in your career. I also pointed out your very different backgrounds...and your disparate financial situations.”

  A cold fury seeped into Riley’s lungs. “I suppose you also felt compelled to tell him about Austin.”

  “Yes, I did. Despite what you think, I have only your best interests at heart.”

  “So you’ve always maintained. Goodbye, Mother.”

  “All right. I’ll leave you to whatever mess you’re making of your life.”

  Hooking her purse strap over her shoulder, she slid on a pair of sunglasses. She started for the door but couldn’t resist a final, parting shot.

  “You’ve known this man, this Sergeant Winborne, how long? One emotionally charged week? If I were you, my darling daughter, I would analyze those emotions carefully before basing any major decisions on them.”

  Riley refused to cry. She hadn’t shed tears in front of any adult in longer than she could remember. But she had to fight to get past the lump in her throat.

  “That’s our problem in a nutshell, isn’t it, Mother? You’re not me.”

  * * *

  Her mask set, she stood unmoving in the tiny alcove until well after her mother had departed. She didn’t need to analyze the emotions roiling around inside her now. The hurt, the anger and the aching sadness were all too familiar.

  It took some time for the storm to subside. Even longer for Riley to recognize that both Pete and her mother seemed to think the ordeal in the desert was at the heart of what she felt for him.

  But why shouldn’t it be? He’d jumped onto the stage and covered her body with his. He’d deliberately let Scarface’s thugs take him hostage. He’d refused to allow Riley to give in to the terror that clawed at her the entire time. He got them both up that narrow wind-catcher, then went back for Prince Malik. He was her hero, dammit, and she wouldn’t let him or anyone else diminish that fact.

  And yet...

  She needed to accept that some hostages did in fact fixate on their rescuers. Even their kidnappers. And, although it made her back teeth hurt to admit it, her mother’s parting shot had some legs.

  Riley and Pete had exchanged maybe twenty words at the wedding, even less during those horrific moments at the opera house. She hadn’t even remembered his name! So maybe... Maybe he was having trouble believing she’d progressed from clinging to him for protection to falling desperately in love in a few short days.

  Recognizing the problem and knowing how to address it were two different matters, however. Riley stood in the tiny alcove so long, staring sightlessly at the wall, that the stoop-shouldered hotel owner became concerned. He rounded the ancient wooden counter, his clouded eyes worried under his embroidered skullcap.

  “Are you troubled, miss?”

  “I... Yes.”

  He nodded slowly, sympathetically. “Love Allah, and He will show you the way. Then you must follow your heart.”

  She stared at him while that simple truth sank in. She had to put her faith—and her fate—in the power of love. Smiling tremulously, she thanked the hotel proprietor and made for the stairs.

  Pete occupied the same spot at the window she had earlier. Almost the same pose, too. Arms crossed, back stiff, he tracked her as she entered and let the door snick shut behind her.

  “I saw your mother leave. She didn’t stay long.”

  “We said all we had to say to each other.” Riley refused to acknowledge the ache that caused just under her ribs. “But...”

  Taking her courage in both hands, she crossed the room. Pete’s arms dropped as she approached, but she could see he couldn’t decide from her expression whether to reach for her or not. Sighing, she laid her palms on his chest.

  “You were right. You and, as much as it kills me to admit it, my mother.”

  “About?”

  “It’s too soon. We haven’t put enough distance between us and what happened in the desert to know whether this—” she patted the steely muscle over his heart “—is what we both think it may be.”

  Was that relief in his eyes? Or regret? God, she hoped it was regret.

  “Okay,” she said, “here’s what I think we should do. We pack up and drive up to Muscat. Tomorrow you head home to your base in the States. Or stay in Oman if that’s what you really want.”

  “And you?”

  “I fly to New York and see what my team has lined up for me. Two...no, three months from now we’ll reconnect.”

  “Reconnect how? Where?”

  “I don’t know.” She slid her palms up his chest, hooked them around his neck. “Guess you’ll have to trust me to make it happen, Cowboy.”

  The wire-tight tension went out of his body. A crooked smile tugged at his mouth. “No one I trust more, Slim.”

  The lopsided grin settled any lingering doubts she might have tried to ignore.

  “So,” she murmured, her mouth brushing his. “It’s settled. We start the ninety-day countdown tomorrow.”

  “We start now. My clock’s already ticking.”

  When he scooped her into his arms and carried her to their bed, he was so gentle she almost wept. At first, anyway. Then he went so hard and hot and urgent that she couldn’t get enough of him. Her back arched. Her hips rose. Her breath came in fast, breathless pants. She matched his every thrust. Every bruising kiss. It was almost as if they wanted to brand each other. Leave some mark to remind them in the days and weeks ahead.

  When he collapsed on top of her, crushing her into the mattress, Riley had to fight the urge to hook her legs around his calves and keep him inside her. But they untangled and she waited until her vision and her breath returned to normal to ease out of bed.

  Once in the bathroom, however, the face staring back from the speckled mirror was one she’d seen too many times in the past. Nervous. Uncertain. Wracked with self-doubt.

  “No!” Her fist pounded the sink rim. “Not this time!”

  This time was for real. If she’d needed an affirmation, Pete had just supplied it. They couldn’t want each other so completely, so compellingly, unless they were bound b
y more than some kind of sick hostage–rescuer transference.

  That utter conviction carried her back to the bedroom. Pete was sprawled sideways across the bed. He’d dragged the sheet up to cover the essentials and Riley did her best to ignore what was still exposed. But she couldn’t ignore his wry smile.

  “I’m having second thoughts about going our separate ways,” he admitted. “How about you?”

  Yes!

  “No.”

  “None at all?”

  “None.”

  She had to force the lie through what felt like several layers of scratchy steel wool. When she finally got it out, she derived only a small twinge of satisfaction from his frown.

  “We are talking only three months, right?”

  “Right.”

  “With a reunion to follow at a mutually agreed upon time and place?”

  “Correct.”

  He studied her for several long moments, then tossed the sheet aside and rolled to his feet. “Then I guess we’d better get packed.”

  Chapter 10

  When a combat rescue team went in hot, their goal was an hour max to locate, stabilize and transport a Code Alpha to a field hospital. As the new superintendent of the 23rd Special Tactics Squadron, Pete counted those grim minutes numerous times during training exercises at his home base and a month-long deployment to war-ravaged Kenya.

  He and his men were back in Florida just ten days when Hurricane Eloise roared into the south Caribbean and devastated the island of Dominica. Within hours, elements of the 23rd were loaded up and ready to roll. As Pete and the team filed into the belly of the MC-130 Combat Talon aircraft that would transport them to Dominica, however, he conducted a separate and very personal countdown.

  Fifty-nine down.

  Thirty-one to go.