More Than Friends (The Warriors)

by Laura Taylor

  "Our son’s an incredible little guy, thanks to you."

  She peered up at him to see in his dark eyes what could only be described as regret for all he’d missed during their years apart. "Do you love me at all now?"

  "How can you ask such a question?" he demanded, his fatigue evident in his flaring temper.

  "I have to ask. I can’t guess about something this important."

  He wrapped his arms around her, took her mouth, and plundered it until they were both breathless. "I love you more than life itself, and I will love you until I draw my last breath."

  Lips tingling and heart racing, she choked back the tears clogging her throat. "I told you earlier that I think you’re an honorable man, but I’m starting to believe that you are an incredibly misguided one too." She paused briefly before she whispered, "I love you, Brett Matthew Upton. And your son will love you when he’s given the chance to know you."

  Too shocked to speak, Brett stared at her. They both heard a voice announce over a loudspeaker the final boarding call for his flight. Leah clutched the front of his shirt.

  "As much as I want to stay, I can’t, Leah. I’ll call you, and we’ll talk. You said it yourself this morning. You aren’t ready to make important decisions about the future right now. I don’t want you to regret…"

  "Listen to me, and really hear what I’m about to say to you," she cut in. "I’m not going to change my mind. I want you to come home to us when you’re ready. Matthew needs you. He’s waited too long to know his father, and I’ve waited even longer to feel whole again. Please don’t make us wait much longer. We want you, and we need you. I think you need us, too."

  "Sir," interrupted the gate agent, "if you’re going to board this flight, you’ll have to do so now."

  He dropped a hard kiss on her lips, and then he promised, "I’ll call you as soon as I can."

  Brett flashed his federal identification as he spoke a few hushed words to the gate agent, who glanced at the security personnel stationed nearby and nodded. He took Leah’s hand. "Walk with me?"

  She nodded, and they headed into the jet–way that connected the boarding gate to the aircraft. She paused at the door of the plane as Brett’s gaze swept hungrily across her face one last time.

  "Trust me this time, Brett. And try to find a way to trust us."

  "I want to believe you," he admitted.

  "You can," Leah insisted. "You really can."

  The stark expression of longing etched into his face made Leah sag against the jet–way wall as Brett stepped into the aircraft and she lost sight of him. After the door slammed closed, the gate agent, a middle–aged woman with a kind face, touched her arm. "You’ll have to return to the main terminal now."

  "I know," Leah said, swiping at the tears spilling from her eyes.

  She made the trek back up the hallway, where members of the security team escorted her out of the terminal and drove her back to her family home. Leah waited then. She waited for four of the longest weeks of her life, but Brett never called.

  12

  It was Micah, not Brett, who finally summoned her to Washington, D.C., but only after she’d returned to Monterey, accompanied by security–team members, reinstalled Matthew in his kindergarten class, and listlessly resumed her work in the flower shop.

  Helene and Martin Holbrook arrived unannounced to care for their grandson on the same night that Micah telephoned. Leah felt like the object of a covert conspiracy by the time she boarded her charter flight for the trip to the East Coast.

  Leah flashed a startled glance at her big brother when the driver of the car that had collected her at the airport turned into the grounds of Arlington National Cemetery. The uniformed young man guided the car down a series of narrow lanes deep within the confines of the resting–place of several generations of fallen warriors.

  Micah shook his head, his eyes darting to the other occupants of the car as though to caution her against speaking. Because she recalled her brother’s passion for privacy, Leah remained silent until the other passengers—grim–faced naval officers clad in dress uniforms—exited the vehicle once the driver pulled into line behind several other official–looking cars.

  She turned again to Micah and noticed his reluctance to return her gaze. He stared, instead, at the mourners gathered less than twenty feet away from their parked car.

  "What’s going on, Micah?"

  He cleared his throat, but he didn’t speak immediately. Leah felt a surge of apprehension threaten her emotions, but she told herself that her brother was just being his usual mysterious self.

  He pushed open the car door. "Come with me, Leah. I need your help. So does Brett."

  She folded her hands in her lap. "I’m not budging from this car until you explain what we’re doing here."

  "We’re attending a funeral."

  "Alright, big brother, you owe me an explanation, and it had better make sense, because right now I think you’ve lost your mind."

  He gripped her hand. She felt and saw his escalating tension, not just the lines of stress deepening the grooves on either side of his mouth. She got the impression that he was just barely holding onto his own emotions.

  "Will you trust me and come with me now?" he asked in a low voice.

  "I’m a little tired of men asking me to trust them, Micah. Brett asked me to trust him, and I did. That was a mistake I don’t intend to repeat."

  Exhaling harshly, he stabbed her with a look that frightened her. "Commander Brett Matthew Upton has officially been declared killed in the line of duty by the United States Navy. His funeral services are about to begin. Now, will you come with me?"

  Leah blanched. Shock ricocheted through her. Micah gripped her shaking hands and hurried her out of the car before she could protest. "Don’t hold back your emotions. This is important."

  Too stunned to make any sense of his comment, she stumbled to the gravesite with Micah’s assistance and sank down onto one of several chairs lined up in front of a flag–draped coffin. Leah listened numbly to the navy chaplain as he spoke in a reserved tone of voice.

  "Eulogizing a man cut down in his prime is often a difficult task. In this case, however, it is not. The achievements of Commander Brett Upton are numerous. He served his country with distinction, honoring both his nation and the United States Navy in the performance of his duty. A graduate of the Naval Academy, he began his career with the highest expectations of his commander–in–chief and his superior officers. Not once did he fail to achieve those expectations. If anything, Brett Upton exceeded them, time and time again, and often at great personal risk to himself."

  Leah sagged against Micah. He pulled her up to her feet a few minutes later, and he slipped his arm around her to steady her once the chaplain completed his remarks. She wept for Brett and all the warmth and love he hadn’t had time to express or to experience in his life. She wept for her son, because he would never know his father. And she wept for herself, because she knew she would never love a man as she’d always loved Brett.

  A captain stepped forward and presented her with the flag after it was removed from the top of the coffin and folded in a poignant ceremony by the honor guard unit. Weeping soundlessly, Leah didn’t notice the strained look Micah exchanged with his commanding officer as the two men saluted one another.

  She numbly watched mourners, primarily men and women in uniform, walk by the coffin. Each person placed a long–stemmed red rose atop the coffin. No one spoke to Leah, but several people paused to shake Micah’s hand and exchange a few words.

  Leah fought to resurrect her poise. She felt consumed by a sense of loss so profound, she didn’t protest when Micah guided her to a car other than the one that had delivered them to Arlington for the funeral.

  "Take it easy, baby sister. Everything’s going to be fine," he promised as he glanced repeatedly at the rearview mirror. After exiting the cemetery, he remained alert and watchful.

  Leah stared blankly at the passing scenery as they traveled
the congested roadways that eventually led out of the nation’s capital and into a Virginia suburb. Micah finally pulled up a short driveway to a house she didn’t recognize. He pressed a button, and the garage door closed behind them.

  "Thank God, that’s over."

  "What happened to him?"

  "Nothing."

  Bewildered, she stared at him.

  "We’re here. You can go inside now."

  "Here where, Micah?" she exclaimed, the strain of the last hours showing. "What are you trying to do to me?"

  "Brett is waiting for you."

  She rubbed her temples with her free hand as her eyes filled with tears again. "You aren’t making any sense."

  "The funeral was staged. I had no choice but to put you through that hell in order to guarantee his survival. I hope you’ll find a way to forgive me. I’m really sorry."

  She stared at him, unable at first to comprehend what he’d just said. "How could you do that to me? I’m your sister, for God’s sake."

  "It had to look real. There were people there taking photos of every move we made, every tear that you shed."

  "Micah!" She shoved the folded flag at him and reached for her purse, intent on finding her cell phone and calling a cab so that she could escape her brother’s lunacy.

  He grabbed her and gave her a good shake. "Listen to me. It was the only way we could think of to make sure he’s protected from retribution by the thugs who almost killed you and Matthew."

  "They’re in jail or dead. You know that."

  "They have friends, Leah. Brett brought down one of the most powerful terrorist leaders in the Middle East. He was the lynchpin of the entire operation. The wrong people know it, and they want him dead. I just helped mop up at the end of the operation."

  Desperate to believe him, she whispered, "He’s really alive?"

  "Yes."

  Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back. And a flash of pure fury made its presence deeply felt in her heart. "You should’ve told me the truth. How could you do that to me?"

  He thrust his fingers through his dense golden hair. "You can’t fake that kind of soul–deep grief, Leah. You were the key to the authenticity we needed, so I opted to use you."

  Stunned, she whispered, "You need a new career, big brother. This one’s turned you into a heartless bastard."

  Micah Holbrook flinched, but he didn’t deny her observation. "I did it because I don’t want my best friend assassinated by death merchants from the other side of the globe, because Matthew deserves to know his father, and because I don’t want my baby sister heartsick over a man for the rest of her life. I wanted to make sure you three have a chance at a real life together once the dust settles and these people forget about Brett. It’ll take time, of course, but—"

  "Is he expecting me?" she cut in, too frustrated with his machinations to listen to anything else he had to say.

  "Yes, but don’t tell him I took you to that funeral without telling you the truth first, or he’ll have my head on a platter."

  "You’d deserve it," she declared, still raw–nerved from the ordeal she’d just endured.

  Micah winced. "I know, but I had to make this thing look real."

  "It felt real, Micah, much too real. I love him."

  "Tell me something I don’t already know." He gave her a hard hug, and then he leaned past her to push open her door. "I’ll wait out here for you."

  Still feeling more than a little shell–shocked, Leah made her way into the house. She hesitated when she saw the man in the kitchen. He stood with his back to her. When he turned to look at her, she recognized Brett, despite his short hair, the gray added at his temples, the glasses he wore, and the mustache that now covered his upper lip.

  "How was your flight?" he asked.

  She opened her mouth, but just as quickly snapped it shut. She decided that she liked the nervousness she sensed in him. Where was it written? she wondered, that he had the right to be calm when she felt as though she’d been fed through a paper shredder.

  "I hope the subterfuge of getting you here wasn’t too much of a hassle."

  "Why exactly did you have me brought here?" she asked, moving closer and openly studying the cosmetic changes in his appearance. He looked unexpectedly civilized, especially with the upscale wardrobe he obviously now owned. She doubted, though, that the inner man, that overtly protective renegade who thought he had all the answers to every problem, was situated too far out of reach.

  "I’m about to disappear, courtesy of the navy’s version of the Witness Protection Program. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I needed to see you one last time. I wanted to tell you that I love you. I’ve always loved you. If I had another choice, I’d cash in my chips and join you in Monterey."

  "We aren’t invited to your new life?" she asked.

  He frowned. "This isn’t a party, Leah."

  She nodded. "You’re walking out on me again, aren’t you?"

  "Not by choice."

  She glanced down, ran her fingertips along the edge of the kitchen counter, and then gave him a penetrating look. Deep in her chest, her heart felt like a piece of chipped rock. "You didn’t call."

  "I couldn’t risk it."

  "You promised."

  He took several steps in her direction. "I know."

  "Where will you go?"

  "I can’t tell you, it’s classified."

  She laughed, the sound too high–pitched to reflect any real humor. "Any ideas on how I’m supposed to cope with all these changes?"

  He moved closer, his hands casually tucked in his trouser pockets, the fabric straining across his groin. Her gaze snagged on the potent reminder of his skill as a lover and the passion they’d shared. She felt her insides start to simmer, and she fought the feeling in favor of keeping her wits in a straight line.

  "I didn’t want to just disappear without telling you the truth, and I was selfish enough to want to see you one more time. I may be gone for a year or two, perhaps longer." He extended his hand.

  She ducked beyond his reach and positioned herself in front of the kitchen window. "Do you have any comprehension of how I felt when I stood at a gravesite and listened to your eulogy? Can you even begin to grasp how devastated I was?"

  He grabbed her, trapped her against his chest, and forced her chin up so that he could see her eyes. "Micah took you there without warning you about what was going to happen, didn’t he?"

  "He said he needed my reaction to be authentic." Tears filled her eyes as Brett swore. "I thought you were dead." She felt her self–control splinter. Tears spilled from her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. "I thought you were dead," she sobbed.

  "My God, Leah. I’m so sorry." He held her as she released the pent–up emotions she’d held at bay for the last four weeks.

  She finally looked up at him, her lashes and cheeks still wet. She shuddered as his hands swept up and down her back and then roamed over her hips. In spite of the clothes she wore, he made her feel almost naked as he caressed her.

  Brett brought her up and against him, a low moan escaping him as she repeatedly nudged against the ridge of flesh trapped between their lower bodies. Trembling with desire, Leah slid her arms around his waist, her fingers pressing against the base of his spine to bring him even nearer as she fastened her lips to his.

  She savored his hot response, drinking it in like a woman parched, even as he fed on her, his tongue stabbing into her mouth as he thrust his hips against the welcome of her cradling thighs. She shivered violently, wanting him with a craving so intense she couldn’t even begin to voice it. Breathless, she held on to him and lost herself in the sensations rioting through her body. She groaned when Brett lifted his head and dragged in enough air to nourish his lungs.

  "Why is it that men are so stupid some of the time?" she asked once she could speak. "They think they can plan every little detail and expect a woman to just go along with them."

  "I’ll write," he promised, his lips whispe
ring along the side of her neck and driving her mad with longing.

  "That’s not good enough," she insisted, her fingers stroking the front of his trousers. She felt the surging power of his sex against her hand, and she craved the feeling of having him buried deep inside her body.

  "I can’t risk calling."

  "Then don’t." She dragged her hands away from him and clenched them into fists to keep from touching him.

  Brett lifted his head and peered down at her, uncertainty in his dark eyes, tension of a different kind sifting into him. He edged her back against the kitchen counter with the power of his lower body, trapping her there as he studied her. "What about Matthew?" he finally asked.

  "He’s my child. I’ll worry about him, so don’t give my son another thought."

  He blinked in surprise. "You’re furious."

  "No kidding!" She glared at him, stunning him with the flashing blue–green of her eyes. She stabbed her finger against his chest so many times, she expected to find a dent there if she decided to look beneath the pin–striped shirt he wore. "You’re depriving me, once again, of the right to choose my own destiny. How do you expect me to feel?"

  "You have to trust me to know what’s best for all of us, Leah."

  "No, I do not have to trust you to do any such thing. You need to trust the strength of our love, as well as our ability to adapt as a family to the situation we’re all facing."

  "It won’t be safe."

  "There’s danger everywhere," she argued. "But we’ll manage."

  "I don’t have the right to expose you or Matthew to a high–risk situation. There are too many unknown factors. As lonely as I’ll be without you, I have to do the right thing for all of us. It’s crucial. People want me dead. I won’t have the two of you caught in the crossfire."

  As agitated as she felt, Leah managed to calm herself. She experienced the dread of impending loss, and she intended to do everything in her power to stop it from happening again. "Your success depends on your ability to blend in and not be noticed. Correct?"