Secondary Targets

by Sandra Edwards

  Grace had played out that scene, over and over, in her mind. She and Eric, happily married and nothing pleased them more than spending a lazy Saturday afternoon in the swing on this front porch, their front porch, while their children played with their friends.

  In her fantasy, the children never aged. The eldest, a boy of about nine or ten, she fancied would be named after his father and well-liked by the other children, even the older ones. Their daughter, Grace imagined, would be named after both her grandmothers. She was just about six, and hadn’t been playing outside with the other children all that long, it had been her fondest wish ever since she peered out the window one day and saw her brother playing alongside the neighborhood kids.

  “Did that give you comfort, Gracie?” Eric’s tone cut into Grace’s soul. “Being here in the present, but living in the past?” His pain escaped in the form of a sharp laugh. “Hell, you weren’t even living in the past. You created a whole alternate reality inside your mind.” He paused, and glanced out over the empty yard. She let her gaze follow his and she could almost hear the laughter of the ghosts of their children that could’ve been. But then his cold stare settled back on her and chased away her fantasy. “I just want to know if that was enough.”

  His words sliced through her. “You think it’s comforting to live in a world that doesn’t exist?” Tears spilled from her eyes, splashing her cheeks. “No, it wasn’t comforting. No, it didn’t help,” she said, shaking her head. “But it was all I had.”

  Grace sprang to her feet, but Eric wasn’t far behind. He grabbed her and pulled her to him. “I’m sorry.” He forced her to remain in his arms. “I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t like the implication, but she relented, hardly able to fight her desire to let his soothing embrace offer her some much needed comfort—even if it was derived out of pity. She’d take what she could get.

  “There’s no hope for us. Is there?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

  Eric’s resentment had resurfaced and it was urging him to give her a big, fat resounding No. He’d thought about shutting down the urge, briefly, but figured why bother. It’s not like she’d gone out of her way to spare his feelings.

  He begrudged her for running out on him. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, here she was submerging herself inside this fantasy life that included nothing more than the notion of him. He also resented her looking so damned good.

  Why? Why couldn’t he just look at her with indifference? And feel absolutely nothing. Instead of having this overwhelming need to comfort her invading his senses. That notion, he decided, was presumptuous. He was assuming that he could succeed at the task. What if he couldn’t? Maybe she preferred the fantasy to reality.

  The front door opened and Marcus poked his head outside. “Sorry to disturb you guys, but, this house could turn into a war zone at any minute.” His face, riddled with fatigue, failed to hide the angst his voice tried so hard to cover. “We need to see if we can find what we came for and get out.”

  Eric pushed himself up from the swing, leaned down and grabbed her hand. She followed him inside where Marcus and Cherilyn were busy rummaging through the house in true spy form.

  Grace lingered near the door for a moment and then grabbed a box and began packing her father’s medals and decorations and her treasured photographs. Eric plucked a picture frame off the fireplace mantle of himself, Grace, and Marcus. There was one of Eric and Grace, right after they’d met. He was glad she’d gotten that one, he would’ve spent way too much time reminiscing.

  “Grace,” Cherilyn’s voice broke into Eric’s private reverie. “Did your father leave any personal papers? Memoirs or anything like that?”

  Grace took a second to ponder that notion. “No,” she finally said, shaking her head.

  “Well,” Cherilyn said regrettably, “I think we should take the things you’ve gathered and be on our way.”

  In a perfect world the clue would’ve been staring them in the face when they walked through the door. But nothing had ever come easy for Eric Wayne, why should now be any different?

  Eric stacked one box Grace had filled onto another and carried them to the car. They contained the things she wanted, the things she treasured most.

  It was one more jab, like a stake into his heart, that there were things far more important to her than him.

  But right now there was nothing more important to Eric than keeping Grace safe.

  CHAPTER 27

  Near the Tennessee-Kentucky Border

  TWILIGHT invaded the late afternoon sky, casting a haze over the city and Eric’s mind. Discombobulation was tiring work, and had left him exhausted.

  The back seat of Cherilyn’s latest vehicle acquisition proved much more invigorating than the last. Eric settled into the seat and rested his head against the window. The feel of Grace leaning against him wrapped him in a familiar comfort that he’d long since forgotten.

  Soon after his thoughts slipped into the silent darkness of sleep, a dim light invaded the crepuscule and hauled him back to a place and time he knew well. Dixie’s. Eleven years ago.

  The seaside restaurant in Atlantic Beach, North Carolina had a reputation for being the birthplace of marriage proposals. He’d almost been forced to make the reservations nearly two months in advance. Not by choice but by necessity. Thanks to the General’s recommendation, name-dropping had worked to Eric’s advantage. Or, maybe it was simply the phone call from Cherry Point’s commanding officer that had done the trick.

  Either way, Eric and Grace shared an intimate table on the terrace overlooking the bay. The ambiance, spectacular and accentuated by shimmering candlelight, did its best to soothe his nerves.

  Waves rolling lazily back and forth did a poor job of creating their usual calming effect. Eric fiddled with the little blue box in his blazer pocket. Brushing his fingertips over the velvet, he studied Grace with admiring appreciation.

  God, that girl was beautiful.

  Dark hair cascaded recklessly around her face and down over her shoulders. Brown eyes sparkled with a golden hue that was only present when she was excited or happy. The notion that she was either or both was enticing.

  Eric wasn’t a big fan of makeup, but hers suited her. Pink eye shadow had paled as the sky darkened, leaving only a glistening dusting above her eyes. Her lips were perfectly painted with an alluring shade of red. The urge to reach across the table, grab her and ravish her mouth, to begin with, enveloped him in a strong craving that wasn’t likely to let go anytime soon—thanks to that red dress.

  It brought out the intensity of both her hair and her eyes. And those little spaghetti strap thingies...one had fallen from her bare shoulder and lay against her arm. Did she know the sight had intensified his passion?

  She flashed a smile, pulled the strap back up over her shoulder and stood. “I’ve got to go powder my nose.” A nervous sort of giggle escaped and she glanced away shyly. “God, I never thought I’d be saying something like that.”

  The gentleman in Eric stood and released her from the discomfort that seemed to have crept upon her. Did she know about this place’s reputation? Something had stirred her nerves. She knew.

  The two of them overcome with anxiety, that just wouldn’t do. Eric set out to conquer his weakness by concentrating on Grace. Watching her walk away from him, with that dress clinging to her body, shifting back and forth, ever so slightly, as she strolled along.... The view enticed him. Seduced him.

  God, he wanted her.

  Eric cleared his throat as she disappeared inside the restaurant. The solitude gave him a chance to expel, or at least subdue his urge to rip the dress from her body, take her and claim her as his own.

  Was there not a place of happy medium between his nerves and his desires?

  With fleeting thoughts tantalizing his mind of freeing her body from the confines of the dress, he waved for the waiter.

  As if the attendant had been anticipating Eric’s call, he quickly appeared with a bottle of c
hampagne on ice. While he prepped and opened the wine, Eric pulled out the jewelry box from his pocket. He pried the case open with care, as if he could hurt the contents. Or maybe he just wasn’t as sure of himself as he’d originally thought?

  A distinct possibility. He believed Grace loved him and would want to spend the rest of her life with him. But he’d been wrong before. He’d believed his mother loved him, but as it turned out, she’d only loved drugs.

  Luckily, Grace wouldn’t be like that.

  Pushing his mother’s betrayal out of his mind, he plucked the sparkling diamond ring from its platform and dropped it into one of the champagne glasses on the table.

  The waiter poured a bit of the wine into a flute and handed it to Eric. He took a sip, glanced at the attendant and nodded his approval. With Eric’s endorsement, the man continued his duties and filled both glasses before placing the flute with the engagement ring on Grace’s side of the table.

  It felt like it’d taken forever for Grace to return, but it probably wasn’t nearly that long because the waiter had barely walked away from the table when she appeared at the terrace doorway.

  Eric doubted she knew her face lit up like a Christmas tree every time her eyes met his, but seeing her reaction helped him regain his confidence. He stood, and prepared to turn on the charm.

  Grace had a huge case of the butterflies, knowing the restaurant’s reputation, but just in case Eric wasn’t aware of the implication, she fought the surge of excitement. Setting herself up for a fall was a bad idea.

  She sucked in a breath, but it was no match for anticipation’s thrill. Her arms hung at her sides, swaying as she walked, and she rubbed her thumbs over her fingertips to keep her hands from doing something stupid—like perch themselves on her hips, or worse yet, intertwine together and stall in front of her chest. She usually wasn’t self-conscious in skimpy outfits, but the thought of Eric’s disapproval disheartened Grace.

  He offered her an irresistible smile that suggested otherwise, and courteously pushed her chair in as she reclaimed her seat. She buried her hands in her lap and summoned her playful side as he returned to his chair opposite her. One look into his endlessly infinite green eyes and she lost all doubt, right along with the ability to reason.

  Eric, as if sensing her dilemma, offered her a menu. She opened the bill of fare and surveyed the options. Grace’s disappointment billowed out in a soft sigh. She hated these kinds of restaurants. The menus they gave women never included prices—which was kind of stupid, not to mention archaic, when you thought about it. What if the woman was paying the bill?

  “See anything you like?” Eric asked.

  She peered over the brim of the binder. “Yeah.” She lowered the menu and became acutely aware of the smile spreading over her lips. “How about you?”

  “Plenty,” he said, and took a swallow of champagne.

  Had he even looked at the menu? Or was his mind more happily engaged elsewhere? She wouldn’t mind ordering a to-go box and taking dinner back to the apartment they’d been renting off-base for the last six months.

  They weren’t exactly living together, not officially anyway, but when Eric wasn’t in the field, they were there. It was more practical than a motel, and as he’d often said, the apartment tended not to denigrate their affair like the cheap digs at the Seaside Inn.

  But what to order for dinner? Far as she knew, Eric wasn’t on the take and there were probably a few items listed that could send him to the poor house. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Grace refused to be the reason he had to take out a loan just to pay for dinner.

  “I’m having liver and onions,” he said and plastered on a stoic face.

  She rolled her gaze over the menu and turned to him. “I don’t recall seeing that under the entrees.” She looked at him, curious about how long he could hold out before laughing. “It’s up to you. I’m eating whatever you are.” Grace met his stare head-on, nabbed her champagne flute and gulped down over half its contents.

  Eric was in rare form, and if she stood half a chance, she needed the liquid courage the wine offered.

  And what was with his silly grin?

  She needed more alcohol. Without looking at the glass, she slid it across the table toward him. “Very tasty.”

  He gave her one of those magnifying looks that left her feeling vulnerable and naked. It would’ve helped if she could’ve pulled her gaze away, but she failed.

  Without looking, he pulled the champagne bottle from the ice, gestured a salute and refilled her flute. His grin morphed into a one-sided smirk.

  What was up with him? She glanced at the champagne, mesmerized by the bubbles traveling up through the beverage. The bottom of the glass twinkled and trapped her interest.

  A ring? There was a freaking ring in her champagne. Her heart churned her blood until it burned hot against her cheeks. “Holy shit, Eric!” Grace’s hand flew to her chest. “Did you put that in there?”

  “Well...” His laughter finally broke free. “It was either me, or the waiter.” He steadied his gaze upon her, as if he was undressing her with his eyes.

  The feeling of being naked washed over her again, and suddenly she felt the need to cover herself. She hated feeling susceptible, and yet adored the pleasure that only Eric could induce. “Well, it’d better be from you.” She chuckled softly and her shy uncertainty convinced her to look away.

  The car slowed down until it ceased moving, bringing Grace out of her enjoyable sleep. She hadn’t dreamed of the night Eric proposed in such a long time, and felt cheated to have been yanked away from the memory.

  Awkwardness burned her cheeks. She sat up and wiped her hands over her face. “Where are we?” she asked, before turning to Eric. Did he see her blushing?

  “We’re in Cincinnati,” Eric said. “Cherilyn’s hungry.” If he’d tried to hide the annoyance that filtered out in his tone, he failed miserably.

  He’d obviously grown tired of Cherilyn, but Grace wasn’t altogether certain that he’d ever had any toleration for the woman in the first place. And the fact that Marcus believed she was their salvation seemed to offer Eric little comfort.

  “Cincinnati...?” Grace’s voice trailed off as she tried to clear away the languor. Damn, it didn’t seem like they were getting very far, very fast.

  Car doors opened and Eric, Marcus and Cherilyn exited the sedan. Grace stepped outside the vehicle and the smell of barbeque drifted past. “I’ll be in in a minute,” she said leaning against the automobile. “I want to get some fresh air.”

  “You guys go ahead,” Eric said to Marcus and Cherilyn, and paused on the other side of the car. “We’ll be right there.”

  “You don’t have to wait for me,” Grace said.

  “I know that.” Eric smiled and strolled around the car.

  Grace met him halfway and paused, backing against the vehicle and folding her arms in front of her.

  “What’s troubling you?” he asked, leaning against the car. Their arms nearly touching electrified the small space that separated them.

  “You name it.” Grace laughed, hoping to minimize her mounting anxiety. “I’m not sure how I feel about what Cherilyn’s suggesting,” she said with a shrug. “Just seems like a hopeless business to me. If I want to find Daddy, I run the risk of ruining his reputation.” Conflict swelled inside her. “If Cherilyn’s right...” Her words trailed off, and the rest got bogged down in her mind. What kind of man did that make Daddy? No one deserving of her pride.

  “So, you’ll have had a dysfunctional parent,” he said, as if it mattered little. “Join the club.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” her voice echoed the words slowly as she recalled bits and pieces of information about Eric’s relationship with his mother. But the info she had was eleven years old. “So how is your mother?”

  Eric groaned before answering. “She died about ten years ago.”

  Suddenly, Grace felt the weight of his agony bearing down on her and filling her with remo
rse. “Oh, geez, Eric.” She gulped at the lump forming in her throat. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t sweat it.” He shrugged it off as if it was of little consequence, but Grace didn’t buy it. “She chose drugs over me, right up until the end.” The bitterness in his tone said she was right.

  There was no way she could ever tell Eric about her own addiction, even if she had conquered it. Clearly, he’d never forgive her if he found out she’d turned to drugs instead of him. Thinking otherwise, was only setting herself up for a fall.

  “I got over it a long time ago.” If Eric could convince Grace, then maybe he’d find a way to persuade himself someday.

  Grace pushed off the car and moved to stand in front of him. She studied his face with a comforting, I-wish-I-knew-how-to-make-it-better look.

  He hated it when she looked at him like that. Who could fight off that angelic, wistful face? Not him.

  Knowing it was a bad idea, he tipped her hair with his fingers and brushed it back. What would it take to get her to look at him the way she had the night he’d proposed?

  Seems the only person still fixated on that night was Eric. Grace had moved on. Obviously. But what did she do with his ring?

  “What do you think about this clue business?” She didn’t move away, just stood there, inches from him, and drove her fingertips inside the front pockets of her blue jeans. “And that whole notion of seven people,” she added, shaking her head. “It’s creepy.”

  Eric hadn’t an inkling about the clue, but he agreed, Cherilyn’s concept was weird. And so was his fascination with Grace. His hurt feelings weren’t the thing to concentrate on right now, but he couldn’t help himself. Thoughts of her—them—not only occupied, but had long since overrun, his mind.