Crossing the Line

by Candace Irvin

Unless Carrie had fought for control of the chopper.

  He’d heard of it happening before.

  Given the haphazard professionalism Carrie had displayed before and during their flight, he had to wonder if it hadn’t happened that morning. Rick ignored Ernesto’s curiosity as he leaned forward to snag Eve’s right hand. He stared at the ring encircling her third finger for several moments. A ring that matched the one he’d removed from Carrie hours before.

  Sisters.

  Eve had said it herself, she and Carrie were that close.

  But were they close enough to cover up for one another?

  Before he could ponder the answer, Ernesto nudged his shoulder. “Are you going to read it?”

  Read what?

  Ernesto pointed to the floor of the chopper.

  The sheet of paper.

  Damn. He’d been so worried about Eve, he’d forgotten all about it. He retrieved it quickly, adding another layer of dirt to the paper as he smoothed it out on his thigh. Ernesto handed him a red-filtered penlight before he could reach for his own. “Thanks.” He flicked on the mini flashlight and skimmed the classified memo and promptly cursed. Córdoba was at war—with herself.

  Rick double-checked the time block on the flash message.

  Sure enough, less than five minutes before their chopper had crashed, democratic rebels had stormed the capital city of Córdoba. The entire country was hot. No wonder the pilot up front had been nervous about extracting them, and no wonder no one had bothered to track them through the jungle today.

  The Córdoban army had been too damned busy.

  He was still staring at the message when the chopper touched down on the tarmac. Ernesto nudged his shoulder again.

  “You are okay?”

  “Fine. Situation report?”

  “Patrols along our mutual border have doubled. No doubt because they fear we will choose to send aid.” His buddy frowned. “So far, my brother has not authorized any.”

  The crew chief slid the chopper’s right side door open as the bird’s blades began powering down. Two medics reached in and snagged Eve before Rick could stop them.

  “Careful! Her ribs are—”

  “We know, sir.”

  He vaulted out of the bird as the medics strapped Eve’s still-unconscious body onto the waiting gurney. But as he struck out to follow them to the waiting ambulance thirty feet away, Ernesto’s hand clapped onto his shoulder.

  He whirled about. “Dammit, I—”

  “—know. It is in your eyes, my friend. But she is fine, or will be soon enough. You can see her later. For now, duty calls. I need you. Your colonel needs you. Neither of us have been able to convince Miguel to open our armory to the rebels. Time is of the essence. My brother may not like you, but he has come to respect you these past two years. Perhaps he will listen to you.”

  Rick spun around, for the first time in his life torn between duty and desire as the medics shoved Eve’s rolling gurney across the darkened tarmac. They reached the flashing lights of the ambulance and hefted the gurney in one smooth sweep, folding and locking the frame’s wheels beneath the bed as they slid the gurney into the rear of the ambulance. The double doors slammed shut and the siren shrieked to life. Seconds later, the engine fired up as well.

  Bloody hell.

  Ernesto was right. Friend or not, there was only one reason Ernesto would risk pulling his hide out of a hot zone in the dead of night and in the process risk igniting an already strained relationship between San Sebastián and Córdoba. Ernesto truly needed him. Colonel Robbins needed him.

  Soon, his platoon would need him.

  With Turner gone, doubly so.

  He should be eager to return to the jungle. To return to his men. But as Rick forced himself to turn his back on the flashing but fading pinpoints of lights—on Eve—he was left with the stunning realization that for once, he wasn’t.

  Chapter 5

  H er tummy hurt. Bad.

  Eve balled up her fists and pushed them into her belly, but it didn’t help. And it made the coughs come back. She grabbed the blanket her mother had wrapped around her before she’d put her in the car and pulled it tighter.

  The coughing got worse.

  It made her bump into the handle of the car door, right into one of the bruises mommy’s new friend had made on her arm. She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying.

  At least the coughs stopped.

  She stared out the window, scrubbing the tears from her cheeks as the car turned. Except for the tall white light they passed, the street was dark. Scary. She stared at the back of her mother’s golden hair and bit her bottom lip harder.

  Where was mommy taking her?

  She knew better than to ask.

  She followed her mother’s hair down to the stain on the back of the front seat. It was red and blotchy. Kinda like Mr. Tim’s face when she’d tried to crawl into bed with mommy tonight. Just thinking about Mr. Tim made her stomach hurt again but she didn’t tell mommy. There were lots of things she didn’t tell mommy now. She didn’t tell her when her toes hurt from the cold or when she was hungry. It just made mommy cry and drink. And then she’d find a new boyfriend.

  Someone like Mr. Tim.

  Eve pulled the blanket tight and leaned against the car door as she yawned. Whatever she did, she mustn’t let mommy see the new bruises….

  “Evie?”

  She rubbed her eyes and forced them open.

  The car had stopped.

  Her mother’s door slammed shut and hers opened. She gasped as her mother lifted her out of the car. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Yeah, mommy always said that.

  She wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck and buried her head into her hair anyway. Even when mommy made the bruises herself, she didn’t mean it. It was the beer.

  Isn’t that what Father Francis said?

  She was too scared to lift her head and see where her mother was taking her this time. At first she thought they were going to the shelter, but the street didn’t look right. There were lights on the street with the shelter. She didn’t see any light here. Besides, mommy didn’t like the shelter.

  Eve winced as her mother shifted her against her hips. She opened her eyes and stared down at the steps her mother was climbing. Stone steps. She’d seen them before.

  The church?

  Eve tightened her arms as her mother reached the big wooden door. But instead of knocking, her mother pulled her arms from her neck and tried to put her on the ground.

  “Please, mommy—”

  “It’s okay, Evie. I just need you to sit here for a few minutes.” Her mommy pushed her down onto the prickly mat with the big white cross. “I want you to promise me you’ll wait right here for Father Francis, okay?”

  Alone?

  But it was so dark. So cold.

  “Mommy, I w-want to go back to Mr. Tim’s.”

  “I know, baby, I know. But right now, you can’t.” Her mother pulled her close and gave her a quick hug, but then she pushed her away and tucked the blanket under her chin. “I’ll come back for you, Evie, okay? I promise. Until then, you wait here for Father Francis and you be good.”

  She swiped at her tears. “I will, mommy. I promise I’ll be good.”

  Her mother smiled, but she didn’t look very happy.

  When was mommy ever very happy?

  Eve shivered as she huddled onto the mat. She could feel tears streaming down her face again, hot and wet. This time she didn’t wipe them. She didn’t bite her bottom lip to stop her sobs, either. Mommy couldn’t hear them anyway.

  She’d left.

  Eve tried to get comfortable, but the mat was too prickly and it was too cold. And dark. She leaned against the wooden door but it didn’t help. The mat and the cold made the bruises on her legs and arms hurt worse. Soon they hurt so bad, she couldn’t feel her tummy anymore—or her toes.

  And then suddenly, she started to get warmer.

  He
r bruises stopped hurting—and her tummy and toes.

  There was light, too, burning away the dark. It shone around the prettiest angel she’d ever seen. Prettier than the picture in Father Francis’s office. The angel wore a long white dress like the one she’d seen in the window of the wedding store next to the alley she and mommy slept in one night. The dress shimmered as the angel glided closer.

  She could see the angel’s eyes, now.

  They were bright blue and she had lots and lots of short, black curls and pretty pink lips. The angel was so close, she could have reached out and touched her if she’d tried.

  She didn’t dare.

  What if she made the angel mad? She might go away like mommy. But the angel didn’t go away. She glided closer and closer and smiled as she leaned down to touch her cheek.

  “You’re not alone.”

  But she was.

  This time she really, truly was.

  He should have called first.

  Rick jerked his gaze from the apartment door and stared down at his rumpled jungle fatigues. Bloody hell.

  He should have showered.

  What made him think he could climb off a C-130 troop transport after ten hours in the air, turn in his weapons and field gear, call the Fort Campbell post operator while his men were turning in their gear and then drive across Clarksville, Tennessee, without making sure he was even welcome?

  What if Eve wasn’t home?

  He should have planned this better.

  He would have, if he wasn’t so exhausted.

  For the past six weeks, he hadn’t had the time or the energy to give much thought to anything beyond keeping his men alive. Less than a minute after Eve’s ambulance departed, he’d climbed into Ernesto’s waiting jeep and headed in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to convince Miguel to assist the Córdoban rebels—even discreetly. So he and Ernesto had done the only thing they could. They’d headed back to the airport and climbed aboard another chopper. Ten minutes later, his bird was hovering over the same landing zone where it had all started that morning.

  The moment the chopper had touched down, he’d forced himself to push Eve and his sergeant from his mind and concentrate on the job at hand. It had been easy enough to do while he and his men picked their way through the jungle undergrowth, readying San Sebastián’s newly trained forces in the event that Córdoba’s exploding civil war spilled over their mutual border. It was much harder to do once he was on his way home.

  Especially when he’d landed.

  Watching his men as they greeted their wives and kids had gotten to him. He’d known then he wouldn’t be getting any sleep until he found out what had happened. Not that he’d gotten much anyway. Rick stared at the brass knocker on the apartment door. Besides, stopping by would allow him to check up on Eve while he was at it. He’d have taken the time to do the same for any soldier with whom he’d survived a crash.

  So why had he brought flowers?

  Rick stared into the froth of green tissue in his right hand. The daisies he’d settled on had seemed innocuous enough in the shop down the street. Now they seemed…eager.

  He should have left them in the truck.

  But as he turned to do just that, he caught the sound of footsteps on the opposite side of the door. The taps were soft, but they were definitely headed toward the door.

  Best to drive on through.

  He turned back to the door and raised his hand.

  Unfortunately, his knuckles didn’t get a chance to connect, because the door opened.

  “Hi.”

  The deep-emerald gaze that had been haunting his dreams these past six weeks widened with shock. Before he could blink, it dropped to the daisies in his hand and narrowed. From the ice that crystallized within, he knew what she was thinking. He opened his mouth to explain—

  He never got the chance.

  Eve’s fist plowed into his gut so hard and so fast, that if he hadn’t watched it happen, he’d have sworn he’d been knocked on his ass by a man twice her size, with four times her strength. He staggered backward, the daisies raining down around him as he gasped for air. A second later, the apartment door slammed shut, the force of it echoing down the breezeway.

  He didn’t think; he reacted.

  Rick lunged for the doorknob and wrenched it open before Eve had a chance to throw the lock or the security bolt above it. At the same time, he braced his shoulder into the door and heaved against it with all his might.

  He needn’t have bothered.

  She hadn’t been bracing the door. He went flying across her kitchen, plowing into the protruding ledge of the breakfast counter, directly into his groin.

  White-hot pain exploded inside him.

  He hung there for an eternity, doubled over the counter, his eyes watering, his jaw locked against the whimper clawing up his throat as wave after wave of the most intense agony he’d ever experienced ripped through him. The bullet he’d taken in the Balkans had nothing on this. By the time he regained his composure—hell, his breathing—and peeled himself up from the counter, Eve was standing beside him. Not a single ounce of pity in her frosted glare.

  “What the devil did you slug me for?”

  She shrugged. “Next time, knock.”

  “The bloody door opened before I could!”

  The curls at her temple flattened beneath his roar.

  The sight stopped his fury cold.

  He’d never yelled at a woman before in his life. Not like that. What on earth had possessed him to do it now? Despite her sucker punch, he opened his mouth to apologize, only to snap it shut when her arms crossed defiantly.

  Her chin kicked up a notch.

  “What did you expect, Bishop? A medal?”

  What?

  He understood the source of his own anger—namely his still throbbing groin—but what in God’s name was driving hers? He yanked off his field cap and raked his hands through his filthy hair as the hurt in Eve’s gaze cut into him more deeply that her fury had. He balled up his cap and tossed it onto the counter. It slid down the length, coming to a halt just shy of a small framed photograph propped at the far side.

  The glass was cracked in several places, as if it had been thrown against a wall or the floor. Even so, he could make out the faces of five smiling women. Though the picture was too far away for him to be certain Eve and Carrie were among the women, he’d bet his Ranger tab they were.

  And suddenly Eve’s anger and hurt made sense.

  The crash investigation.

  “Get out.”

  He faced her reluctantly. “I’m sorry. I guess they showed you my statement. I know you’re upset but—”

  She stiffened. “Upset? Mister, you don’t know the meaning of the word.” She marched over to the counter and snatched up his field cap before spinning around to thrust it at him. “I said, get out.”

  Rick stared at the camouflage fabric. From the way her fingers were clamped at the very edge of the cap’s bill, it was obvious she wanted no part of him tainting her or her home. What had he expected?

  He’d tarnished Carrie’s reputation. Her career.

  “Eve, I’m sorry. I know Carrie Evans was your friend, but the fact is, she panicked. Out of respect for my sergeant, I’d decided not to volunteer anything. Unfortunately, I was asked under oath. I had to tell the truth.” There wasn’t anything he could add, so he retrieved his hat and turned to the door. It was still gaping open from his fiasco of an entrance. He stared at the daisies crushed and scattered beyond.

  He’d never brought a woman flowers before.

  He doubted he’d ever attempt it again.

  “Wh-what did you say?”

  The shock in Eve’s whisper stopped him in his tracks. He turned around slowly, afraid he’d misheard out of desperation. Afraid she hadn’t spoken at all. He wasn’t sure she had until she moved. She laid her hands on the counter carefully, as if she didn’t trust herself to do anything else with them.

  She
kept her stare fused to her hands as she dragged in her breath. “What are you talking about? Who panicked?”

  “You mean…you haven’t read my statement?”

  Her gaze snapped up. Fury smoldered once again as she stared hard. “If I had, would I be asking you to clarify it?”

  No.

  He took a step toward her. “Eve, are you—”

  Her hands shot out. “Stop right there, Bishop. Let’s get one thing clear right now. The only reason your ass isn’t smarting from the weather-side of my door is because I need information. Information you apparently have. If you’re willing to share it, fine. You can stay right there until I’m done asking the questions. Understand?”

  The hell he did.

  He had a few questions of his own. Questions that had been simmering in his brain and in his gut for six weeks now.

  Evidently, they’d have to wait a bit longer.

  He jerked a nod.

  “Good. Now, as long as you’ve bothered to show your lying face, I’d like you to do me the courtesy of starting at the beginning. Right about the time you decided to destroy my career.”

  He blinked.

  “Oh, don’t look so indignant. Innocence does not become you. Much less when it’s phony as hell.”

  That’s it!

  Grief or not, he’d had enough. She wasn’t the only one who’d lost someone in that crash. He’d be damned if he’d let her get away with calling him a liar—especially when he had no idea what he was supposed to have lied about. He stepped up to the counter, well into her personal space, and slapped his camouflage cap down next to her. “Where do you get off impugning my integrity?”

  To his surprise, she didn’t give an inch as she matched his searing glare. “Me? Where do you get off, showing up at my door dripping with apologies and flowers? Frankly, I’m surprised you’re not out celebrating. Then again, I was told your company finished its tour of duty and was headed home. Maybe you haven’t heard the news. If so, let me be the first to congratulate you. You got your revenge. You’ll be thrilled to know my wings were stripped. I’ve been grounded as of yesterday—because of you.” She reached past the photograph and grabbed the portable phone from its base unit. “Now get out of my apartment before I call the police.”