Intimate Honor

by D. C. Stone

  Mister who-she-hoped-was-Gonzalez, also known as TD&H, shook his head and snapped it back as if he were shaking something out of his mind. “Samantha?” he asked, his eyes taking another leisurely scan. She tried not to fidget.

  “I expected you hours ago, Mr. Gonzalez.” Maybe talking to him through the glass made her a bitch, but with her history, she wasn’t taking chances. All she wanted was an explanation. She’d gauge it then decide from there.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry, but our plane got delayed. Wind hit us coming in, had to stop up north to refuel. It’s been a bitch of a flight.” He sighed, and she felt his exhaustion in that one sound. “Look, it’s late. I’m sorry for getting here at this hour, but can you open the door? I’ve got Delta Alpha in the truck. He isn’t looking so good, and we’re both wiped.”

  She glanced over his shoulder at the mention of a vehicle, and sure enough, a black Ford Explorer sat parallel to the front of her building, lights on. A quick glance around showed no other vehicles, just the solitaire lamppost across the street giving off a soft yellow glow.

  She let out a small sigh and unlocked the door.

  Chris pulled it open, holding it with his foot, looming in the entranceway. Now with no obstacle between them, she got her fill. And oh my God, what a fill it was. Tall, a good foot above her five-foot-six. He also had about a hundred pounds on her. With her build, she was curvy, and she’d never really felt she had to worry about too much, other than her infinite love of chocolate and what it did to her hips. But she was happy with herself, somewhat confident in what she looked like.

  Standing next to Chris, on the other hand, made her feel small, vulnerable, and womanly. Something she had never felt before. He was huge. Wide shoulders, big arms, and hands that looked like they could crush her with just a thump on her head. His short, dark-brown hair screamed military, and his eyes were so, so dark. With just the overhead light on the entrance, she couldn’t make out the exact color. He had thick scruff on his face that spoke of the time he’d been on the plane. With his size and brooding features, he looked menacing with a hint of sexy.

  The bad boy thing had always done it for her. What made this guy any different?

  “Do you have someplace Delta Alpha can relieve himself?” Chris asked, snapping her out of her perusal.

  “Uh—out back. Has he had the chance to go yet?”

  He shook his head. “He had the chance but was too freaked at the airport and didn’t go. I’ll get him from the car, let him out back, and see if he’ll do business. Do you want me to bring it all in?”

  Bring it all in? Taken aback at that out-of-the-ordinary question, she asked, “What’s it all?”

  He jerked his head to the side. “His Kong, meds, food, crate.” Each item ticked off with what she figured was a military precision to her question, but it still came out too sharp for her liking. Geesh.

  “Um, sure. How about you bring him in and I’ll take him out back while you get the rest of the stuff? That way it’ll give me a chance to look him over.”

  He stared at her for a few minutes, assessing. “Are you being serious? You feel comfortable handling an MWD with no briefing? After all the push-back you gave me on the phone?”

  She bristled, not liking his condescending tone. “Is he going to bite me?”

  He rubbed his eyes and slapped a hand to his side. “Woman, I have no idea who this dog is right now, so I don’t think I can answer that question.”

  Before she could ask what that meant, he went on. “How about I bring him in, we’ll both take him out back, and I’ll explain to you what I mean.”

  She pressed her lips together, her gaze jumping to the dark car, questioning what she was getting into. She had no experience with MWDs, but she knew animals, and for his handler to say he didn’t know the dog, something was really wrong. “Okay,” she answered reluctantly then moved to hold the door open as he stepped away.

  He walked to the back of the SUV and popped the latch. His torso disappeared for a minute and reappeared with a huge multi-colored German Shepherd in his arms. The dog had a muzzle around his snout, and his eyes rolled around almost listlessly but still took everything in. Chris moved inside and through her lobby. She directed him down a hall, grabbed her sweater, and stepped behind him as he pushed out the back door.

  The town of Nyack was filled with different lots and income levels. Up the hill, big mansions sprawled across acres of land. The lower on the mountain and the closer to the center of town, those homes turned into regular colonials and ranchers. The two main roads of the village were Broadway and Main, which housed various businesses, and to the back of those were more residential areas. When she moved into her shop, she had a landscaper come in to pull out the concrete and lay sod so her animals could have a chance to get up and move around. A doggy exercise course sat off in the corner. It wasn’t much, but just starting out, it would do.

  Chris set Delta Alpha on the ground and under the soft light of her backdoor, she saw the dog’s four limbs shake. His tail curled between his legs and his ears laid flat against his head.

  Traumatized.

  Her heart broke. Moving slowly, she knelt next to Chris as he murmured in his dog’s ear. She couldn’t decipher what he said, but the tone said it all. And what it communicated was love.

  “For the most part,” Chris started, speaking softly, “MWDs are pretty easy-going dogs. They may be trained to attack, but with a good handler, they can read a scene and know when to just be. Delta Alpha, who we also call Dumb Ass,” he said with a wry glance at her, “has always been laidback. He’s served for four years. I’ve never seen him act like this. Actually, the team gave him the nickname Dumb Ass because he’s always goofing off when we’re on down time.”

  The side of her mouth tipped up in a smile and she slowly lifted a hand in the direction of Delta Alpha. “This began after he got shot?”

  He nodded and stroked Delta Alpha’s head as the dog jerked his gaze to her and her reaching hand. “Easy, bub. This here is Doc. She’s going to help you get better. Go ahead and take a whiff.”

  Samantha turned the back of her hand toward Delta Alpha, who leaned in and took a sniff. His eyes, though, they held hers, assessing, as his handler had done moments earlier. Fear and intelligence shone from his black orbs. His tongue gave a hesitant lick through the muzzle and she smiled, moving her hand to stroke the top of his head. After a few minutes, his body seemed to ease the shakes, but his tail still stayed between his legs. Chris rose, and she followed.

  “Go on,” Chris said, and the dog turned and walked off to the grass, sniffing around.

  “I’d like to take his muzzle off before I leave tonight, but I’d rather do that if you’re okay with it. And I’d rather do it knowing he won’t be around others. I don’t think he’ll bite anyone, but again, this isn’t the same dog I’ve served with. You get me?”

  Watching Delta Alpha find a spot and complete his business, she nodded. “I do. I have a place he can rest and I’ll make sure my staff knows he’s off-limits to anyone other than myself.” She said staff as if she had anyone other than her and the temp who started tomorrow. She really needed to get someone hired fulltime and gave herself a subtle reminder to add that to her list this week.

  “He has a lot of commands he understands, but the basic ones you’ll need are Sit, Stay, Down, and Out.”

  “Out?” she asked at the odd command.

  “It can be used to get him out of his crate, or to drop something he’s biting.”

  She snorted. “Hopefully not people, right?” she asked.

  He turned and gave a grin. “Hopefully.” With a jerk of his head, he said, “I’m going to get the rest of his stuff. Are you good here with him?”

  “Sure. I’ll wait until you’re done before we go back inside. That way you can prop the front door open to make it easier.”

  His dark eyes studied hers for a moment before he gave a lopsided grin. “Thanks, Doc.”

  Chris turned and gra
bbed the door. She tilted her head to follow him, taking in the way he moved, like a panther, silent, and even with her knowing how exhausted he must be, full of intent. At the door, he turned back to her.

  “Hey, Red,” he started, and she arched a brow at the nickname. “I don’t have a phone yet, but I’m hoping to get one tomorrow, or rather er, in the morning. Or when the sun is up.” He shook his head. “Anyhow, if something pops up and you need me, call the Nyack Police Department and ask for Detective Dwayne Gonzalez. He’ll know how to get ahold of me.” He gave her a small smile, and his features suddenly changed from a menacing man to a hint of the boy next door.

  “I’m sure we’ll be fine, but okay.” Her cheeks heated at that small smile and the intimate scene, with it being dark, no one but the two of them around. Curiosity got the better of her. “Red?” she asked.

  His smile grew, and he pointed to his head. “Your hair.” His gaze drifted to the top of her head before he met her eyes again. “It’s nice. I can’t guess the exact shade of it because of how dark it is tonight, but I can only imagine how pretty it must look under the sun.”

  With that parting shot, he winked and left. She stood there, staring at the back door, stunned at such a normal thing. Chris was correct in his guess of how her hair looked under the sun. It turned a bright red, drawing a lot of attention, something she’d shied at before. She tried to embrace the color, but after years of abuse, her fledging confidence was slow to build back up. She continued to try to ignore the small things, had taken steps to make her life what she wanted it to be, and yearned to be a powerful woman who could stand on her own two feet. And now, standing in the back of her shop, under the soft white light of her backdoor, she wondered if that confidence could be built with small comments such as the one Chris gave. She hoped, really hoped it would be that easy. She just didn’t know how to get the rest of herself to catch up.

  ****

  An hour later, Chris drew the SUV to a stop and stared at his darkened house. Nestled in the woods outside of Nyack’s limits, the two-bedroom cabin sat tucked away from populated areas. He preferred it this way. Despite working on a team for the past umpteen years, he liked his solidarity. The peace and quiet. Someplace he wouldn’t have to deal with a barrage of activity. When you spent hours, days, weeks, and months at a constant state of alert, looking over your shoulder for the next ripe bullet to take off your head, or watching the ground for any hidden IEDs, your body and mind needed the shutdown. For him, it sometimes took a few weeks before he could adjust.

  He shut off the truck and sat listening. The absolute silence was a blessed relief. Tall oaks and pine trees rose from the ground at the back and sides of his property. The front yard contained nothing but gravel and the occasional bush his ma insisted he have. She said it gave the place character. He told her it had enough. But when Mrs. Gonzalez got going, the best thing to do was sit back and let her do her thing.

  After all she’d given him, he wouldn’t and couldn’t stand in her way of happiness. And if doting on a thirty-three-year-old man made her happy, then who was he to get in her way?

  Chris got out of the car and crossed the drive to the front porch. Crickets sang their song around him and the soft brush of leaves pushed against branches with the wind. Being surrounded by the wildlife in the middle of a forest again tugged at his memories. He paused on his porch, reaching for the memory despite his exhaustion.

  Warmth suffused his chest, the feeling of love and happiness moving through him. He had someone then, a partnership with someone who knew him better than he knew himself. Who was it? He closed his eyes, willing more of the memory to come but a black wall hit his mind, preventing him from remembering anything more.

  Frustrated, he opened the front door, clicked on the hall light, tossed his keys on the table by the door, and let out a breath as he took in what he never really considered home.

  He paid the mortgage on it, sure. But he’d barely spent any time at the cabin in the past eight years, so to him it seemed like just another place. He walked down the hall, flipping on lights. Ahead of him opened to a kitchen to the left, the living room a straight path from the front door, and to the right, another hall that led to the two bedrooms. He stopped at the mouth and stared at the kitchen counters. Fresh fruit sat in a big terracotta bowl on top of his black counters. Head tilted to the side in curiosity, he opened the cabinets then smiled as he found them full of food. Inside the refrigerator, too. Obviously, his mother had been there.

  Again, taking care of him.

  He made a point of putting her on the top of his list of whom to call tomorrow.

  Leaving the lights on, he turned and went down the hall, heading toward the master bedroom. Dropping his duffle to the side, he kicked off his boots, pulled off his fatigues, and collapsed face-first to the made bed, not even bothering with drawing the comforter. Within minutes, he fell asleep.

  Chapter Six

  The thing about Afghanistan was that within the untouched beauty of the landscape, hidden dangers lurked beneath. Chris’s team had trained for every possible outcome, even the most unbelievable ones, in order to be able to think, plan, and evacuate out of any situation. Doing what they did, infiltrate and take out the enemy, got them into some very hairy situations. And out of all the fuck-ups that this standard op should have been, this situation shouldn’t have gone so wrong. Almost as if something—or someone—had planned for it to be one clusterfuck after another. Almost as if they didn’t want the team to succeed, or continue to breathe.

  Chris looked over at his captain, but instead of hearing any of the anxious, fear-filled words that screamed from his mouth, the roar of the plane’s engines overrode the warning. Able to slow it down now, something he didn’t quite understand he could do with the threat hovering like a scorpion’s stinger on his neck, the motion of Squirrel’s lips formed the warning. “Get down, tango at your six. Get down!”

  Air punched out of his lungs as if a wrecking ball had slammed into him. Bam! Bam! Boom!

  Explosions ricocheted around him. Those little stingers he’d felt eyeing his shoulders now sank deep into his flesh, embedded into hard muscle, and caused ultimate damage as bullets only knew to do.

  The warm, furry body atop him jerked, but Chris’s mind moved too sluggishly, almost as if he couldn’t keep up. As if he were still trying to figure out what his captain had been trying to tell him. His head swam with a fuzziness that told him maybe slamming his head into that rock formation hadn’t been the best idea. Not like the choice had been his, anyway.

  Adrenaline spiked in his veins. The battle burned like a blaze of fire, still going on around him and his team. He had a job to do, and Dumb Ass had failed to follow his command, something he’d never done before, something he would have a long and drawn-out talk about with his partner.

  He didn’t care that the dog obviously didn’t speak English, or him … doggy-talk. What the hell ever. But worrying about his partner when bullets flew around fast enough to make anyone flinch wasn’t a position he wanted to be put in again.

  Yep, as soon as they got back to their compound, they’d have a real long talk.

  Chris blinked, thinking this over, all the while staring up at the sky, trying to catch on to the warning blazing like a beacon in the dark that something wasn’t right, that this wasn’t the time to be taking a breather. The cloudless sky was so blue it almost hurt to look at, but shit, it sure was pretty. Almost as much as the sky back home in Nyack.

  Squirrel’s face interrupted his view and Chris scowled, about to tell the captain to get out of his way, then frowned at the panicked face of his CO, the dirt and blood on his uniform, the helmet protecting his noggin from taking one of those stingers to the cranium.

  “Are you hit?”

  The ground shook beneath his body, but the weight on top sat surprisingly still. His hands clenched and released, grabbing soft and warm fur. A familiar, textile sensation, but he couldn’t place it. Why was it on top of him? Wh
ere the hell was he?

  Davis came up next and bent low, his arms outstretched, his face a mask of pity.

  What?

  His teammate stood, a very familiar fur ball in his arms. Davis’s face strained under the weight and he punched out a breath of air. “We got to go … now. Tangos have us surrounded.”

  None of that mattered to Chris. He could hardly comprehend how everything happened around him. The sky … the peace … the softness in his hands.

  Wait. He shifted and pain lanced as he realized with a jolt and a panicked look at lifeless doggy eyes that the conversation he’d have with his partner might never occur.

  “Delta Alpha!” he shouted and reached for him, only to pause when the hand in front of him was that of a little kid.

  He drew it back, confused. The surrounding landscape changed. No longer was he in Afghanistan, but instead sitting on a revolving floor. The dark, lush greenery spun around him. He blinked, trying to get a grip on reality.

  A carousel.

  His heart pounded and pounded as if it wanted to be set free. Panic built in his lungs, the scream begging to be released. They were taking him away. Someone needed to stop them!

  “Cooper!”

  Chris woke to the sensation of falling, still screaming that name, but instead of hearing a little boy’s voice, now it was his own. His face smacked into the unforgiving hardwood floor. “Fuck!” He jumped up, senses heightened, the taste of battle and panic sour on his tongue. A sharp twinge in his back protested and his leg howled, but the pain was enough, as was the silence in the room, to bring him out of his nightmare-induced fog.

  He wasn’t in Afghanistan. He wasn’t on that carousel. He’d been sent home on mandatory medical leave, not just in a physical sense, but also to get his head on straight, to get his mind under control, and to make a decision. In his cabin alone with only his guilt and the unrelenting past to keep him company. What the hell was all of that after that scene in Afghanistan, though?