Megan’s heart dipped low and then boomeranged up.
He’s coming home!
She looked over her shoulder at where Jason was checking his own cell phone.
He’s coming home….
See you in a few hours, bro!
The simple message from Darius froze Jason in his tracks when he read the text on his cell phone. He lost his line of concentration and completely forgot about the team member he was talking to.
His gaze immediately sought out Megan as she was coming back inside the room. She looked as dazed as he felt.
“You don’t like it?” Jonathon asked.
“Huh?” Jason pulled his attention back to the conversation at hand even as he slid his cell back into his pocket. Jonathon Reece was an ex-army grunt who looked all of fifteen with his surfer-dude looks. He was one of the newest Lazarus hires and had been brought on board because of his firsthand knowledge of the area. “No, no, it’s fine. Run with it.” He patted the kid on the shoulder and maneuvered him toward the door. “Check in later and report the results.”
Thankfully Jonathon didn’t linger any longer and exited the room. Which left him and Megan alone.
“He’s coming home.”
He knew he didn’t have to be more specific. Dari would have contacted Megan before Jason. And even if he hadn’t, he could tell by her expression that she knew.
“He’s boarding a transport now.”
Jason nodded, watching her face closely. He wouldn’t have thought her the type to wallow in guilt. But he saw traces of it there. And he felt it himself. Of course, he understood they would be inhuman if they didn’t experience something akin to the dark emotion. Neither of them had counted on Dari’s returning so quickly. In fact, had the word come in twelve hours ago, last night would have never happened.
He never would have suggested what he had.
And he knew for certain Megan would never have accepted.
“Look,” he said quietly. “I’ve been knocked back on my heels along with you. But nothing’s changed. There’s no reason he ever has to find out.”
He couldn’t even bring himself to use his friend’s name in the context of the conversation.
He’d never lied to Darius. And he reasoned he wouldn’t really be lying to him now. The last thing Dari would ask him was if he’d banged his girl. Which meant that he’d never have to answer the question.
Megan nodded and pushed the wisps of hair that had escaped her ponytail back from her sexy face. “Right.”
“You’re happy?” he asked.
She squinted at him.
“At his coming back,” he clarified.
He couldn’t bear it if his indiscretion had turned Dari’s girl away from him.
“Of course,” she said.
She looked away from him, and Jason could tell by the wistful shadow in her eyes that she was, indeed, happy.
He released the breath he was holding. Good.
If there was a small part of him that wanted her to say otherwise, he wasn’t going to acknowledge it. They’d had sex. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Mind-blowing, hot, sweaty, naughty sex…but sex nonetheless.
There was no love between them.
Not the love that so obviously existed between Megan and Dari.
Why, then, did he suddenly envy that love?
“I, um, am meeting Dominic in the car outside.
We’re going to ride over to the church,” she said.
He knew that. After all, he’d just helped her map out the morning’s activities just a few moments ago.
But within that time span, it seemed the whole world had tilted on its axis.
It was up to him to figure out a way to set it right.
Even if that meant doing nothing at all.
AN HOUR LATER, Megan looked around the simple house that sat next to the small chapel, the setup similar to countless others she’d seen in her lifetime, as well as attended in every town in which her father had been transferred to, growing up. There were faded, frilly curtains at the kitchen window, worn linoleum on the countertops and floors. A plate of homemade cookies on the table.
The current pastor had been in residence for the past year and a half and was maybe about thirty-five, forty, tops. He and his wife had two ’tween girls who were rushing adulthood, much like every other normal girl their age. He’d been happy to talk to her, to do anything he could to aid in the search for little Finley, but he hadn’t given her much more than she already had.
Dominic waited outside, as she’d requested. The rain had stopped and a blazing sun turned the atmosphere into a hazy sauna.
“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t give you anything you could use, did I?” Pastor Dewayne Dryer said as he walked outside with her.
“I appreciate your time. I’m sure you’ve already talked to several people about the case.”
He nodded. “And I’ll talk to several others if it helps bring Finley home.”
Megan noticed a couple of people walking into the chapel.
She gave the pastor a card that bore the main office’s number along with the one to her cell, and asked him to add it to the pile he already had for those wanting a call if he thought of anything else.
She nodded toward the chapel. “Do you mind if I have a look around?”
His brows rose slightly. “No. No, of course not. Be my guest.”
She slid her pad into her back pocket, and thanked him.
Dominic pushed from where he leaned against the SUV. She gestured for him to stay where he was as she walked the twenty yards or so to the chapel door.
Megan paused momentarily to allow her sight to adjust to the dimmer interior. Minimalism was the name of the game when it came to decorating. There were maybe twenty-five pews on either side of the aisle and a simple cross hung on the back wall. The pulpit was covered with blue indoor-outdoor carpeting, a plain podium to the left, what looked like a railing for the choir to the right. It smelled like cheap furniture polish and flowers, although she didn’t see any fresh blooms. Had there been a recent funeral, maybe? Or a wedding.
She knew there had been several calls for prayer scheduled over the past ten days specifically geared toward the safe return of Finley. She counted sixteen people there now, spread around the pews. Most were elderly women, but there were two younger ones linked at the elbows to her left, and a man she guessed to be in his thirties to the right.
She edged toward the younger women, flashed her ID, which was nothing more than a private security badge and photo identification, although she was completely aware that it made her appear to be official law enforcement. She asked if she could speak to them and they quietly agreed, following her outside.
As it turned out, neither of them knew the girl. In fact, they didn’t even live in the area. They’d come specially to put in a prayer for her from southern Georgia and planned on driving home straight after.
No, they hadn’t talked to anyone else since their arrival a half hour ago.
No, they didn’t know anyone else within driving distance.
Megan stifled her sigh and thanked them for their time, about to call it quits when the man she’d spotted inside exited the chapel.
“Sir,” she called. “Can I talk to you for a minute, please?”
She flashed her ID again. He looked beyond her to where Dominic still stood waiting at the SUV, his arms crossed over his impressive chest.
The man flashed her a smile. “Is there something I can help you with, Officer?”
She found out his name was Don McCain and that he sometimes played the organ at Sunday service if the regular organist was ill or on vacation. He was an elementary-school teacher, currently unemployed and, yes, he said, he knew the Szymanski family through the church.
“And little Finley? Had you ever interacted with her directly?”
“You mean, have I?”
She squinted at him in the hazy light.
“Present tense. You see, s
o many seem to have given up hope. I prefer to stay positive.”
“I meant ‘had’ as in prior to this point,” she said.
“Oh. I see.” He slid his hands into his pants pockets, looking as if he’d just come from teaching a class of third graders with his starched white shirt, striped tie and beige slacks. He had light brown hair and eyes and an ordinary face with no distinguishing features.
“So…had you?”
He looked at her blankly. “Oh! Had I interacted with Finley directly.” He rocked back on his heels. “Yes. In fact, I had. And I hope to again in the future. She’s such a bright little thing. And she likes looking like a girl. Always wears this pretty pink scarf…”
Megan took notes even as her cell phone buzzed on her hip.
He went on to say that he organized the seasonal cookie sale to help benefit the church and that Finley was one of their top sellers that year. With, of course, plenty of help from her grandparents.
“And her mother?”
“Sorry to say I’ve never actually met her. I understand she doesn’t get to church much.”
Megan nodded as her phone buzzed again.
“Well, thank you for your time, Mr. McCain.” She produced her card and held it out. “Please add this to the pile I’m sure you already have and add me to the list of those wanting a call should you remember anything else.”
He held the card up. “You’re actually the only one I’ve talked to.”
“Well, thank you, then.”
She turned, sliding her cell from her holder at the same time. Two missed calls. Neither one of them from Dari. Or from Jason.
She sighed and put her phone back before heading for the car.
“Where to next, boss?” Dominic said, opening the passenger door for her.
“The first of three babysitters’.”
8
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Megan sat alone at the command center going over her notes. She’d been so distracted throughout the day, she hadn’t given a lot of thought to the conversations she’d had or tried to take the precious little additional information she had received to the next level. Even her notes registered as chicken scratches in desperate need of an interpreter.
Unfortunately she didn’t know of any hens around up for the job.
Cocks, on the other hand…
Her throat tightened and she closed her eyes.
She’d managed to meet up with only one of the three babysitters, and the girl had been as much help as rain on picnic day. Which was understandable, because just as she and the team were investigating different angles, so too were the sheriff’s office and the FBI—which meant they were circling back to those with whom they’d already spoken and probing further. From what she could gather from this particular babysitter, they’d pushed her until she’d pushed them out.
Megan’s patience with the girl had yielded her a few extra minutes, during which she’d gotten a couple of other park locations she’d once taken Finley that weren’t already on the sheriff’s or Lazarus’s list.
Still, a check of the map showed them outside bike range for an adult, much less a seven-year-old girl.
“Don’t move…”
Her pulse leaped at the familiar voice even as she felt hands lightly touch her shoulders, moving down over her arms and then back up again, pulling her with them.
Dari…
She turned and melted into his embrace, both glad to have him back—and relieved that she felt that way.
She stayed like that for a long moment, not moving, merely reveling in the feel of him against her again, sensing the thrum of his heartbeat, breathing in the soapy scent of his skin.
She released a breath she feared she’d been holding for over four months.
“Hey, you okay?” he whispered into her ear, smoothing her hair back.
She leaned back to gaze into his all-too-handsome face, but found her throat wouldn’t allow her words.
So she nodded instead.
“Wow,” he said, grinning at her. “You did miss me, didn’t you?”
You have no idea how much, she said silently.
She accepted his leisurely kiss, groaning at the welcome pressure of his mouth against hers. She shifted her feet for a closer meeting…and her knee hit something unexpected and hard.
She broke the kiss and looked down, finding a cast on the bottom half of his leg.
“What happened?”
His chuckle soothed her jangled nerves, but only slightly. “What, you didn’t think they’d just let me come back on leave, did you?”
She’d been so overwhelmed she hadn’t even stopped to think of why he was coming back. Only that he was.
“What happened? I mean, is it serious? Did you take a direct shot?”
A third voice sounded from the doorway. “Dumbass stepped on an IED.”
Improvised explosive devise. They peppered any area where enemy combatants were rumored to be. Megan herself had watched two of her fellow Marines lose limbs to the crude weapons. Another lost his life.
“I didn’t step on one,” Dari said, his frown bone deep. “The interpreter traveling with us did. I was right behind him.”
She didn’t ask what happened to the interpreter as she searched his face.
“Metal where my femur used to be and significant muscle loss,” he explained. “Trust me, it don’t look pretty.”
“But you have full use of your leg?”
He grinned. “I have full use of my leg.”
Jason dropped the duffel he was hauling next to them. “Good. That means you can take care of your own business from here on in.”
Megan averted her gaze, not wanting to read anything into his words, but failing.
Was she as much Dari’s business as his duffel?
“I’m starved,” Dari said, looking her over. “What’s there to eat around here?”
She got the distinct impression he wasn’t talking about food.
Jason cleared his throat. “Are we done?”
Dari looked over his shoulder. “Thanks for picking me up, Savage.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He grimaced and gave his friend a two-finger salute. “I’ll leave you two alone so you can catch up.”
Megan held her breath until they were, indeed, alone. Then she released it.
“About that food…” Dari reminded her.
“Let’s go back to my room,” she said, hooking her finger into the waist of his khakis. “I’m sure I can find somebody who’ll deliver…”
DARI LAID BACK IN BED, taking some comfort in having Megan’s body curved against him while she slept, but not much. His leg was throbbing and his head wasn’t doing much better. He’d been home for a little over six hours. Although he recognized that “home” was a relative term, because he was in Florida, not Colorado Springs.
Still, it was worlds away from the desolate, remote mountains of Waziristan, and much closer to home than he’d been two days ago.
If only he didn’t find himself back there every time he blinked.
He absently rubbed the grit from his eyes. At least a week had passed since he’d gotten more than a couple hours of sleep at a stretch. Every time he closed his eyes, he found himself walking on that remote mountain pass, his M-16 gripped tightly in his hands, sweat running down the back of his camouflage shirt. The temps ranged somewhere near a hundred and ten degrees in the shade. Not that there had been much shade to be had where they were traveling. Which made it doubly important to keep aware of every step.
Only that was hard to do when your body was screaming and there didn’t seem to be enough water in the world to quench your thirst. It had been two days since they’d stumbled across anything that remotely looked like civilized society. As you listened to the heavy breathing of those around you, as well as your own, it was all too easy to believe you were alone in the world. That nothing else existed.
Except for Megan…
He turned his head and watched her face as she slept.
So beautiful.
Thoughts of her had kept him alive but hadn’t staved off the memory of the interpreter half turning just ahead of him to let everyone know that they were still five klicks away from their first stopping point, when the sun glinted off something at his feet.
Darius had shouted for him to watch out. But it was too late. His foot landed and the IED exploded…
Now he ran his hand over his face, realizing it was drenched in sweat. Although for a moment, he remembered being drenched in something else entirely.
Megan shifted against him.
“Are you okay?” she whispered, her hand shifting to lie on his chest.
“Me? Sure. What makes you ask?”
“You made a strange sound.”
“I did?”
Great.
He’d heard about flashbacks and had met with a psychologist in Germany where he’d been sent for the medical attention he required following the explosion. He’d been given a set of signs to look for indicating post-traumatic stress disorder.
Of course, he’d denied displaying any of the signs for fear that they’d keep him there longer.
At that point, all he could think about was making it back home.
Seeing Megan.
“I must have been dreaming,” he said.
“Funny, I didn’t think you were asleep.”
He smiled at her in the dark. “Funny, I thought you were.”
A twinge of pain in his leg made him wince. He considered getting the pain pills out of his bag and throwing back a couple, but decided against it. He was all too aware of how quickly someone could become addicted to those, as well, and wasn’t about to go down that road.
“You hurt?”
“A little. Nothing I can’t handle.”
The dim neon light that filtered from the bathroom window bathed her in a red glow, highlighting the sweep of her dark hair, the pointy tips of her breasts, the curve of her hip.
He swallowed hard, wanting her all over again, no matter the price he would pay when he was done.
“Do you want a couple of ibuprofen?”
Funny, he hadn’t thought of taking something a little less addictive. “That’s a good idea.”
Reckless Pleasures Page 5