Military Man

by Marie Ferrarella

  Soon enough, according to the way he felt and what the doctors had said, those same wheels would have to turn without him.

  To his credit, he’d made sure that the companies he headed would all go on smoothly when he was no longer there to helm them. He’d passed the reins on to younger people. Healthier people.

  It was a strange thought that came to him in moments when the tumor was not assaulting him with waves of pain. Everything would continue when he was gone rather than abruptly stop.

  It was what he wanted, and yet…

  It was just his fear talking, he told himself. His fear of what lay beyond. He’d always been a man of strong, albeit quiet, religious convictions. He’d made peace with his Maker over this curve that had been thrown to him out of nowhere.

  But there were times when he couldn’t help feeling incredibly sad. The fact that he actually wasn’t immortal, that he wasn’t going to continue forever, would rise up suddenly out of the mists of his daily life and mock him.

  He supposed that every man, every woman, carried with them the seeds of immortality merely by having children, by leaving a mark that they had passed this way. But still, it was a difficult concept to come to terms with. That one day he wouldn’t open his eyes, wouldn’t…

  Continue.

  The headaches were getting more frequent. Stronger. But he held out as long as he could against them, against taking any painkillers. The medication the doctor had prescribed to ease his pain made him feel mentally fuzzy and he didn’t want to be fuzzy. He wanted to be able to absorb everything around him.

  Even the presence of unexpected visitors like the young man sitting in front of him.

  Ever since the news of his condition had been made public, he’d had an incredible amount of people come through his house. But Garrett Wolff was not one of the ones he’d thought would come. Mainly because Garrett never stopped working.

  The young man, who was senior vice president of the Expansion Division of Voltage Energy Company, reminded him a great deal of himself when he was younger. Not so much in looks. For one thing, the lanky thirty-two-year-old was of Nordic descent and had the blond hair—which he wore rather long—and blue eyes to prove it. No, it was Garrett’s manner more than anything that brought back echoes of his own past to Ryan. A past when he’d felt invincible and entertained thoughts about forever.

  As if realizing that he had lost the attention of the man he had come to pay his respects to, Garrett abruptly stopped talking. When Ryan looked at him, he apologized, “I’m tiring you out.”

  Ryan waved a hand that had become almost too heavy to manage. “No, really, I’m enjoying this,” he protested.

  “They told me you lie like a diplomat.” Garrett’s smile had a tinge of sadness to it.

  The way everyone’s did these days, Ryan thought. He saw it everywhere he went.

  People who barely knew him personally now looked at him with sadness in their eyes. As if they were mourning with him. Mourning for this life that was slipping through his fingers like drops of water.

  He’d always wanted to leave the world a better place than he’d found it. But truth be told, he really didn’t want to leave it at all. Not for years to come. He felt he was still too young to die.

  Too young to stop living.

  The matter, he reminded himself, was out of his hands. All he could do was depart graciously and leave a lasting, dignified impression in his wake.

  “Do not go gentle into that good night,” the poet had said. But he was past that point. All he had left was gentility.

  And dignity.

  “Maybe I am a little tired,” he allowed. He didn’t want to make his guest uncomfortable and gave him a way out.

  Garrett was on his feet instantly. He’d come to pay his respects to the most noble man he’d ever met. A man he’d tried to pattern his own life after. But he had no desire to wear Ryan out, to sap what little strength it appeared the once dynamic man had at his disposal.

  Taking Ryan’s hand in his, Garrett shook it. It surprised him and heartened him that Ryan’s grip still felt strong. Given his deteriorating condition, it was nothing short of a miracle. But then, Ryan Fortune was all about miracles.

  “I’d like to come by again,” Garrett told him, “if that’s all right with you.”

  Ryan smiled as the doorbell pealed in the distance. “Make it soon.”

  It wasn’t a polite statement, it was a statement of fact. Later, Ryan knew, might be too late. He wouldn’t be here.

  Even as he sat here, surrounded by the outward signs of his success, his walls covered with framed photographs capturing him with various heads of corporations and charitable foundations he had given his energies to, he could feel life ebbing away, passing out of his body with each breath he took.

  His housekeeper appeared in the doorway of the den, peering into the room as if afraid to disturb him even for a moment. She knocked softly on the door frame.

  Ryan didn’t make the effort to turn around. He knew who it was. His Lily never knocked. She entered a room like sunshine, bathing a room with her essence.

  “Yes?”

  “Mr. Ryan, Miss Kyra is here to see you.”

  At the mention of the new visitor’s name, Garrett involuntarily stiffened.

  Kyra Fortune, Ryan’s much younger cousin, was his Associate V.P. What’s more, the statuesque platinum-blonde was out for his job.

  Nothing had been said, of course, but he could smell it the way only a man who had pulled himself up by his bootstraps out of the soul-numbing abyss of poverty could.

  He had a very strong instinct for self-preservation. He wouldn’t be where he was if he didn’t. Kyra, on the other hand, was a child of privilege, who undoubtedly felt entitled to anything that caught her fancy, however fleetingly. And the top position in the company had done just that.

  Well, she couldn’t have his position. He’d worked damn hard to get here and no self-absorbed, spoiled brat was going to wrestle it away from him, even if she thought she was entitled to.

  “Now it’s really time for me to go,” he murmured, intending the comment to be more to himself than to Ryan.

  Ryan looked at him with interest. His body was turning on him, but his mind, whenever the headaches left him alone, was still sharp.

  “You and Kyra work together, don’t you?”

  Ryan made it sound like a harmonious association. Garrett thought of the battle of wits that had gone on between them almost from day one.

  “I’d say only in the loosest sense of the word, Mr. Fortune.”

  His semi-disclaimer brought a wan smile to the other man’s lips. Whatever the cause, it was good to see Ryan smile, Garrett thought.

  At that moment Kyra breezed in, a ray of confidence in four-inch heels.

  “Ryan, how are you?” she asked, and then she stopped short.

  The housekeeper hadn’t mentioned that there was someone else in the room with her cousin, much less that it was her boss, Garrett Wolff. As far as she knew, the man kept his rather attractive nose pressed close to the grindstone twenty-four hours a day.

  Kyra pressed her lips together, suppressing a sound of deep displeasure at her discovery. It was self-righteous people like Wolff who kept her from advancing. They all thought that she only wanted to get somewhere because of her name.

  If they only knew…

  Her name was more of a burden than anything else, keeping her down because everyone seemed bent on showing her that being a Fortune meant nothing. They were so dedicated to their goal that they tended to overlook her accomplishments. All they did was focus in on the fact that she was a Fortune and “that’s not going to get you anywhere around here, so don’t expect it to.”

  Garrett had said those very words to her at their initial meeting.

  She never forgot it and it made her twice as determined to best him at his own game. Just to show him she could. Not because she was a Fortune, but because she was Kyra, someone who got what she was after and was
n’t afraid to work to get it.

  Her gaze frosted over as she looked at the man she had to face on a daily basis, but her words were intended for Ryan.

  “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that there would be anyone here with you.”

  Garrett returned the cold look in kind. She was like a tick in his side, constantly gnawing away at his flesh. Trying to make him back away to give her a clear shot at things.

  Over his dead body.

  Or hers.

  “I was just leaving,” he informed her.

  “Good,” she said with a bit too much feeling. Then she smiled as she looked at Ryan, pretending to temper her words. “It’ll give me some time alone with my favorite cousin.”

  Garrett shook his head. How could someone like Ryan be related to someone who could easily been mistaken for Satan’s daughter?

  “Thanks for coming,” Ryan said to Garrett as the latter took his leave. Amusement curved his mouth, although he doubted that either of the other parties was aware of the reason.

  From his vantage point, he could observe that there was enough electricity within the room to run a large generator for a month and a half. Too bad he wasn’t going to be around to see how this all played out, Ryan thought with a twinge of sadness.

  Yes, he thought as Kyra sat beside him, life was going to continue, even if he was no longer around to participate.

  Eleven

  He took her to the small Mexican café that claimed to serve the best chili this side of the border. Not being an expert, Collin had no way of knowing if they lived up to their claim, but it was better than just satisfactory and Lucy seemed to enjoy it.

  He enjoyed watching her enjoy it.

  He found the thought, when it dawned on him, a little unnerving and more than slightly disconcerting. He took note of other people’s reaction to things, cataloging them for future use whenever he was called upon to create a profile of the man or woman he found himself tracking.

  But this went into a file all its own. A file marked “Lucy.” A file without a purpose, other than to exist for its own sake. And to give him pleasure should he peruse through it.

  Upbraiding himself accomplished nothing, so he stopped trying and went back to enjoying.

  They lingered over lunch a great deal longer than either of them was accustomed to. To Lucy, lunch was anything a vending machine might cough up, or, on rare occasions, the sandwich she thought to bring, badly wrapped in aluminum foil and slightly misshapen. For Collin, meals never had that much structure to them. He ate when he was hungry if something was available.

  Eating at a prescribed hour had not meant anything to him since he’d left his father’s house. But a great many things were now being reshuffled, resetting themselves in the scheme of things.

  Like slipping into a groove that he had never quite occupied before.

  Since before reaching puberty, learning the lesson at his father’s knee, he’d been a man’s man for so long, he’d forgotten what it was like to feel something around a woman.

  Or if he even could.

  But this woman was unlocking doors, opening windows, freshening quarters of his being that had become stale with stagnant air.

  She made him somehow feel, just by being with her, by listening to her talk, that sunshine had taken down the “vacancy” sign and moved in.

  As they talked, he discovered that they had things in common. It turned out that they were both close to their fathers. Both learned at an early age to rely chiefly on themselves for whatever emotional sustenance they needed, she because either one or both of her parents were usually posted somewhere away from her and he because as much as he loved his father, the man was usually busy. For as long as Collin could remember, August Jamison had been attached to the CIA in a capacity that best used his psychological training.

  Lucy asked more than her share of questions. Each time he tried to turn the conversation back toward her, she somehow managed to field whatever he asked, then sent the conversation right back to him.

  Amused by what he felt was a clever psychological sleight of hand, he tried again and again to bring it back around to her.

  “Do you get to see him much?” he asked as the bill arrived. He placed his credit card over the check on the off-white tray.

  Preparing to leave, Lucy slipped her arms into the jacket she’d draped over the back of her chair. “My father? More now that he’s retired and moved here to be close to me.”

  She remembered how surprised she’d been to discover that they were practically neighbors. And that her father wanted to be her friend as well as her parent. It was then she began to think of him as a person, not just a parental figure.

  And realized that he was lonely now that he no longer had her mother’s return to look forward to.

  “Not as much as either one of us would like,” she added. An ironic smile played on her lips. “Now I’m the busy one. I don’t think he much cares for the other side of the coin, but he understands, which is good.” She gave a small, careless shrug of her shoulders as she finished pulling on her jacket. “Doesn’t assuage the guilty feelings, but it helps.”

  The waitress returned with the tray again. Collin quickly signed the credit card receipt, then tore off his copy. He tucked it into the pocket of his jacket. “Guilty feelings?”

  She nodded. She’d been surprised to experience a few of those. “That there aren’t enough hours in the day to make time for those we love.”

  He looked at Lucy for a long moment before telling her, “Sometimes we arrange it that way without realizing it.”

  She tried to read between the lines and couldn’t. His eyes were deadly serious. Too serious. She tried to lighten the mood. “Oh, am I going to be subjected to your keen insight?”

  He took a breath, then let it go. “I was referring to myself.”

  Her eyes narrowed. The focus took on a different direction. “Oh?”

  “Actually,” he recalled, “that was what my fiancée said to me.”

  Something went very cold within her. It was the first time he’d mentioned another woman. He was engaged. Then why had he kissed her, damn it? It was Jeff all over again. Jeff, who she’d spent so many hours daydreaming about, making plans for the future. Jeff, who, in moments of weakness, she’d thought of giving her seventeen-year-old virtue to.

  Her mouth felt as though it was filled with hot sand. “Fiancée?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. She said it to me just before she married my best friend. Said she was tired of waiting for me to make time for her. To ‘wake up and smell the coffee,’ as she so creatively put it.” He shrugged philosophically. “Instead, I woke up to smell the ashes.” Irony hovered on his lips as they curved. “I was just in time to be too late.”

  Lucy had been all set to walk out, mentally calling herself seven kinds of a fool. She called herself that anyway, for jumping to a conclusion. But once burned with a poker, it was hard not to jump when she thought she saw one being raised.

  She did her best to mask her reaction and her thoughts. She tried to place herself in his position. The same position she’d occupied when Jeff had told her he was marrying another woman, the one who was carrying his baby. “I’m sorry.”

  Again, he shrugged, uncomfortable with the subject and a little mystified that he was responsible for bringing it up. He only had himself to blame. “My father’s a great believer in fate. He says if something is meant to happen, it will.”

  She laughed softly, unaware that the sound wove its way into his belly. “That’s a good excuse not to do anything,” she pointed out.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  And he had already done too much, he thought, annoyed with his lack of discipline. There was no need to involve himself with this woman beyond the basics. She was in the M.E.’s office, she’d alerted him to certain things about the case. For that, he was grateful, but he couldn’t allow that to be an excuse to see more of her. She had no place in this investigation.

  Nor did she h
ave any place in any corner of his life. There were no vacancies in his life, he told himself. At least, none he was willing to rent out.

  He’d always known when to retreat, and this was definitely that time. “I’d better be getting back to work,” he told her. “I’ll drop you off at the M.E.’s office on my way so you can pick up your car.”

  “Where are you off to next?” She wanted to know.

  “A few odds and ends I need to see to.” Collin paused, then looked at her significantly. “And a promise to keep.”

  She wasn’t sure what to make of the expression on his face. He was suddenly so serious again. And yet there was compassion in his eyes. The man completely mystified her. “Oh?”

  His eyes met hers. The butterflies in her stomach found their wings turning to lead, no longer moving quickly. No longer moving at all.

  “The one I made to you,” he said.

  She was drawing a blank. He was the last man in the world to make a woman a promise. Besides, except when they’d kissed, they hadn’t been like a man and woman around each other at all. At least, he hadn’t.

  “I don’t recall…”

  “About your mother.” He’d made some progress in that area, acting on his promise the very next day after he’d made it. “A friend said he might have something for me this afternoon.”

  Suddenly alert, she was ready to jump to her feet. “Can I come with you?”

  The area was classified. Even with a visitor’s badge, there was no way she could get in. Collin shook his head. “Afraid not. But if I come up with anything, I’ll give you a call.”

  She hated the sound of the phone in the evening. That was how she’d received the initial news about her mother. Her father had called her immediately. She would have rather waited until she could have sunk into his arms, until they could have comforted each other in person. Instead she stood there, clutching a telephone receiver. Numb from the chest down.

  “Why don’t you stop by instead?” Lucy suggested, rising to her feet. “I’d rather get news face-to-face. The phone’s so impersonal.”