But today he was her friend. One who spent the afternoon riding and laughing with her. The way he looked at her … it sorta made a girl wonder if indeed, he’d missed her, just like he’d suggested between the lines in his weekly letters. And he smelled good. Too good. The perfect heady mix of masculinity and fresh air.
If Lacey didn’t put some distance between them, she just might forget to which man she belonged.
“So you like Special Ops?” she asked. “I thought you had to be in the army for a couple years before they’d let you try out.” She ran a piece of tall grass between her fingers, trying not to be jealous of the wind as it skimmed his hair.
“They have a special fast-track program. They’re short on team members, and with the cold war breaking apart, Reagan wants to make sure we have the military specialists to take down any sudden eruptions for power.”
The thought of him wielding an M-16 or, worse, being slain on some foreign war-rocked soil sent a shudder through her. “Is it hard work?”
He smiled, a lopsided, endearing grin of acquiescence. “The first time I jumped out of an airplane, I thought I was going to lose my stomach through my mouth. But … well, it’s sort of exhilarating. Gotta watch how you land, however. You could break both your legs.”
She made a face. He laughed. She felt it rumble through her, clear to the soles of her feet. How she’d missed him, his easy friendship, the way he seemed to know her thoughts. She thought of that as she watched him relax under the tree. If he were to die in some unnamed eastern European smudge on the map, she’d lose the last little still-beating piece of her heart.
“Why are you doing this, Micah? I mean, I understand John. He’s after glory, driven by a weird mix of patriotism and idealism. And when he talks, I think he could inspire Gorbachev to become a patriot. But you’re different. You’ve never told me why you’re so dedicated. I mean, we haven’t had a war for ten years. And hopefully we won’t ever again. So why join the commandos?”
He touched a strand of her hair. “It always amazes me that no matter how hot it is, your hair always stays springy.”
She batted away his hand. “That’s because I’m cursed with Galloway curls.”
“Blessed.”
“Answer my question, Soldier Boy.”
He grinned, a hundred-watt smile that made the balmy May day feel a billion times hotter. “Okay, but you have to swear, upon pain or death, that you won’t reveal my secret.” His eyes held tease, but she couldn’t dismiss the hint of seriousness in his voice.
She held up her hand. “I swear.”
“Upon pain or death.”
She hit him, and he playfully protected himself. “Penny, I’m serious.”
She rolled her eyes. “Upon pain or death.”
His smile disappeared, his eyes fixed to hers. “Well, I always fancied that I’d been given a sort of sacred charge. Micah 6:8.” His expression became very, very serious as he recited the Bible verse: “‘The Lord has already told you what is good, and this is what he requires: to do what is right, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.’”
He was giving her a glimpse beneath the mighty armor of Jim Micah, and it made her weak.
“Well, when I started looking and praying about my future, I kept coming back to military service.” He sat up, braced himself on one arm. “Do you know that the Green Beret motto is Free the Oppressed?”
“No, I didn’t.”
He shrugged. “When the recruiter told me that, it was like fireworks shot off in my head. I’m going to be a Green Beret.”
“That’s really dangerous, isn’t it?”
He didn’t meet her eyes and instead leaned back, staring at the sky. “I’ll be okay.”
She reached out, palmed his chest, wanting suddenly to cry or even beg him not to go. She heard the catch in her voice and forced her tone to remain light. “You better be careful, Jim Micah. Don’t you dare die on me, or I’ll come over there … and … and …” She couldn’t conjure up a threat big enough to undo him, so she just shook her head.
He grinned, a teasing smile that made her a little dizzy. “Good.” Then he ran his fingers over her cheek. His smoky green eyes were on hers, holding her, pulling her in.
In a desperate attempt for sanity, she tickled his nose with the blade of grass she still held. He sputtered, then roared with play and launched himself toward her. She took off, running through the creek. He tackled her halfway in, pulling her down into the cool water.
“Micah, stop!”
He laughed, then poured a handful of water down her back.
She arched away from the cold. “Stop it!”
“Okay, sorry.”
When she looked at him, all play vanished. His smile dimmed, and heat pooled in his eyes. He stared at her, swallowed, and his gaze fell to her lips. She quivered with a strange sort of fear but didn’t stop him as he touched her jaw and drew her close.
His kiss was soft. Achingly soft. Sweet. As if he was more afraid than she. He touched her upper lip, then both. His breath was light. “Lace,” he whispered, drawing back. His gaze searched hers and suddenly she held nothing back. Everything she felt for him gathered in her eyes. I think I love you, Jim Micah.
He kissed her again. This time with surety. But just as perfectly. She closed her eyes and shut out everything but the feel of his lips on hers.
He curled his arm around her. “Lace,” he repeated and deepened his kiss.
She felt a thousand private hopes take flight. Jim Micah. In her arms. This was what she’d secretly dreamed of for two years, even before she’d met John. Selfishly, after John had left for West Point, she’d hoped maybe they’d simply drift apart and Micah would become more than a friend. But John had kept calling, showing up at her doorstep during Christmas vacations, and well, Micah had never … really …
But now he had his strong arms around her, tasting of strength, of friendship, of her future. It knotted her throat, and she didn’t dare breathe.
He broke away, breathing hard. “Lacey, stop … please.
We … can’t …”
She stared at his sickened expression, and horror drew over her like the cold lick of gooseflesh.
He looked away, as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her. He even closed his eyes. “Oh, Lacey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. John is going to kill me.”
He would have inflicted less pain if he’d kicked her in the heart. Instead he pushed her away and stood up. He blocked the sun, and water dripped off his now plastered T-shirt. His gaze landed on her and his expression looked terribly like regret. She clenched her jaw and held up her hand.
He pulled her up. “Let’s get back to the farm.” He didn’t wait for her as he stalked toward the horses.
As he walked away, she knew. For a brief second, she’d seen his desires fill his eyes. And she knew they matched her own. He might not say it, but he loved her too.
But she was John’s girl.
Now Lacey stood in the nook of the maples and let the breeze obliterate the echo of that memory. She had loved Jim Micah. And she thought he’d loved her. But she’d been wrong, and after that fateful night there had been no turning back.
It felt like she’d been running ever since.
Lacey scanned the horizon one last moment, saw nothing, and crouched to sprint for the hill.
A rustle of brush behind her made her freeze. She turned, then stifled a cry as a form launched toward her.
The woman had the reflexes of a tiger. Micah rubbed his chin, feeling a welt growing where Lacey had kicked him, and glared at her.
“I suppose I should get used to you tracking me down, but please, Micah, believe me when I say you don’t want to be here.” She sat against the maple tree, breathing hard and massaging her shoulder.
He hadn’t meant to take her down, aiming instead to clamp his hand over her mouth and keep her quiet. Obviously his stealth skills needed some polishing. “Why did you take off on me?”
She
gave him a look that made him feel like a toddler.
“Okay, so maybe I deserved that. But, hello, I’ve mentioned more than once that I’m on your side. Do I have to tattoo it to my forehead?”
She closed her mouth, and for a second, he thought he saw her face crumple. But spy that she’d been, she recovered in a nanosecond. “Maybe you did say that. But frankly, I don’t know who to trust. I’m sorry. I’m not turning myself in.”
He opened his mouth to protest.
She held up her hand. “And I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Again he opened his mouth.
“I know, I know. You’re already hurt.” She pursed her lips and looked away. “I don’t want you getting killed.”
Oooh, that was new information. He stared at her, saw strain on her face that he hadn’t seen before. “Who might kill me, Lacey?”
She said nothing.
“Okay, listen, like I keep saying, I’m a big boy. I’ve been around the block more than once, and obviously, you’re still hurting from the accident. I see it on your face. So until I know what this is all about, let’s just focus on Emily. She’s lost, and you’re in trouble. And I care.”
She shot him a look of surprise, but he ignored it and kept on. “What’s more important here is that you’re not going to get into the stable without me. I drove around the main road. There are at least three NSA teams, one of which is comprised of sharpshooters. And they’re in the house, having a little face-to-face with your brother.”
Lacey grimaced. “I hope Sam is okay.”
Micah shrugged. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of stories the NSA might be telling her little brother. Or what he already knew. When Micah had seen him in church a few weeks back, Sam hadn’t breathed a word about Lacey. Micah assumed the guy hadn’t seen her in years. “He doesn’t know anything, does he?”
“What, like I’m a spy running from the government?” She smiled wryly as she worked her shoulder. “No, I managed to keep that tidbit of information to myself. Somehow. It’s not like it is Thanksgiving dinner conversation.”
“So your brother doesn’t know about Emily?”
Her face darkened. “Yes, he does. As does Janie. Emily has lived with Janie most of her life.”
Micah hadn’t expected that. Although he hadn’t really been able to wrap his mind around Lacey as a mother either. She’d jumped from young and innocent to sassy and tough and stayed there. There wasn’t room for softness in that description. At least the kind that came with motherhood. Still, if he knew Lacey and her commitment to family and the way she grieved her own mother’s death, she wouldn’t easily hand over her motherhood reins to anyone. Even big sister Janie.
Lacey lifted the binoculars to her eyes and peered out. “I think we can go now. I don’t see any movement.”
“Don’t think for a minute that I don’t recognize my field glasses, by the way. I guess we can add thievery to your list of felonies.”
“Yeah,” she said, not taking the binoculars from her eyes.
“I’m also pretty good at breaking and entering.”
“That’s not funny, Lacey. You’re in so much trouble I think they’ll probably deny your visitation privileges for the next two decades.”
She glanced at him. No hint of a smile. “Not that anyone would visit me.”
He felt punched. Even so, he could hardly believe it when he said softly, “I would.”
She bit her lip before turning away. The wind swept that ridiculous blonde hair across her face, and the anger that had fueled him for the last two hours, the same anger that focused his thoughts and unwound her plan, evaporated at the expression of pain on her face.
“Emily was injured in my womb in Kazakhstan,” she whispered, not looking at him. “She was born premature, with undeveloped lungs. Even now, she gets lung infections easily. Janie … helped me. She kept Emily for me while I tried to figure out who was on my tail.”
“Someone was after you?” He edged toward her, wanting to ease the heaviness on her face, instead taking the binoculars from her hands. He swept the horizon with them.
“Yeah. I think it was Shavik.”
He drew the binoculars from his eyes, frowned at her.
“Why?”
“It’s such a long story. I don’t know where to start.”
“Try backing up to ten minutes before I found you in Kazakhstan holding a knife dripping with your husband’s blood.”
Micah got her attention, hoping to spark anger. Lacey might know how to play mind chess, but underneath the cool exterior, there was a woman who heated at his accusations. He hoped.
She licked her lips and stared at him with a cold look. “Shavik killed John.” She took the binoculars from him, again put them to her eyes. “Sorta. He worked for a man named Frank Hillman. Who I think might still be on my tail.”
“How would he know about Ex-6? I’m assuming that it’s top secret.”
She nodded. “Precisely.”
He paused as realization sank in, sending a chill through him. “You think someone inside the NSA knows and is leaking information to Shavik.”
“Or to Hillman.” She crouched. “Ready?”
“Wait, who is Frank Hillman?”
Ignoring him, she pointed along the fence line. “Remember the old Galloway mine? Grave’s Cave entrance is right up there.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Um, you do remember that you, John, and I nearly got killed in that mine once, right?”
When she grinned, he saw the old Lacey, the one who lived for adventure, for challenge. “Uh-huh. Race ya.”
She darted up the hill toward the cave entrance. He recognized the limestone boulders that concealed the entrance. If he remembered correctly, it had also been their escape route when the abandoned Galloway mine caved in on them. He suppressed a shudder just thinking about the choking dust, the pitch-black that had poured into his eyes, his mouth. Lacey had been a quiet sophomore, showing off her parents’ property to Micah and John. In the end, she’d saved their lives.
His lucky penny.
He ran behind her up the hill. She vanished behind the outlay of boulders, and he knew that five steps beyond was the cave opening. He was breathing hard when he met her inside.
She leaned against the wall of the cave. “You okay?”
“Good,” he said between breaths, hating his vulnerabilities. Emily wasn’t the only one missing a lung. He wiped a pricking of sweat off his temple. “Now where?”
“Inside. About fifty feet. Then the mine jags off from there. We follow it to the cabin.”
“I thought we were going to the stables.”
She grinned. “Yeah, you did, didn’t you?”
He wanted to wring her neck as she started down the passageway. Her flashlight—no, his flashlight—striped the walls and lit their path as they angled into the darkness. The smell of bat guano and mustiness rushed him back to the Tennessee cave and Brian. He’d have to call Conner and see if the kid had been released from the hospital yet.
Conner. He’d forgotten to call him back. But maybe if he kept on Lacey’s trail—something easier said than done apparently—he’d discover just who this Ishmael Shavik was without Conner’s help.
And then what? Call Senator Ramey? Oh, sure, Micah rated high on the favorites list with this maneuver. Aiding and abetting. Well, if they weren’t caught, no one would know … right?
His chest tightened. No, he’d know. The only way out of this mess was to turn Lacey in. Willingly … or kicking and screaming. Right after she got her Emily back. That’s what drove him to follow her, despite common sense yelling in the back of his brain. He did care. About Emily—John’s daughter. And about justice.
He hadn’t been lying. Not … really.
He felt like a dog as he followed Lacey through the mine. She glanced back now and again and smiled at him. It only dug the guilt further into his chest. Yeah, some hero he was. He wasn’t helping her. He was slowing her down. What was worse, he w
as going to arrest her.
But he would visit her in prison. Every day. Because, as much as he hated to admit it, she’d gotten under his skin. Like a virus. Or an old football injury.
What was more, the low simmer that had started three days ago in his gut, the one that had him questioning her guilt, had heated to full boil. Shavik killed John?
Of one thing he felt sure: Lacey Galloway Montgomery would die for her family. And John had been her man, as much as Micah hated that fact. He had no doubt that if she’d been given the choice she would have traded her life for John Montgomery’s in Kazakhstan.
In betraying him, she would be betraying herself. No wonder her eyes looked empty.
No wonder she looked like a woman whose soul had died.
So what had really happened in Kazakhstan?
Chapter 11
LACEY FOUND THE key to the cabin right where she’d left it, inside a plastic bag tacked to the upper side of a beam. Her light traced the outline of the door, its hinges webbed and rusted.
She heard Micah’s labored breathing behind her, and a flint of worry pierced her concentration. “You okay?” she asked in a low tone.
“Yeah,” he answered, but it sounded too fast, too easy.
She turned the lock, eased the door to the stairs open. The smell of cement and fresh air rushed at her, and dust filled her lungs. She stifled a cough as she angled her flashlight up the stairs, saw that the trapdoor was still locked. “Up here.”
Micah moved in behind her as she climbed the stairs, unlatched the trapdoor, and pushed it open. The gray hues and cool air of a closed cabin signified safety. She held her breath and listened—no rushing feet to yank the door open, no sudden intake of breath as they waited to pounce.
She climbed into the cabin, flashlight in one hand, Micah’s knife in the other.
The main room was empty. Sunlight cracked through the boarded-up windows. Dust twirled in the film of light and covered the sheets outlining the sofa and the rocker.
Micah climbed up behind her. “I thought this place had been abandoned.”
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