Running Blind

by Cindy Gerard

  And Rhonda had felt it was finally time to read her file.

  Sitting on her sofa, an untouched glass of wine on the table beside her, she held the file she’d just read. She’d wanted hard copy, something tangible to hold on to. Something more personal than a scrolling screen that disappeared when you were done.

  Marjorie Reynolds’s story was excruciatingly sad. It read like a tutorial on how to make a killer. Abandonment, sexual and physical abuse, drugs, and alcohol. Petty theft that paved the way to stealing a gun—and to killing the man who’d been entrusted to give a child a loving home but had violated her in the most heinous ways possible.

  But although the events of Marjorie’s life had influenced how she’d lived, it was the decisions, the choices she’d made, that led to her evolution into a monster.

  After reading the file, Rhonda had realized that she’d let herself become a product of her environment, too. And she couldn’t stop wondering if she’d also made poor choices. Although she wasn’t a monster, she’d felt like one the last time she’d seen Cooper.

  “So what you’re saying is that I’m not worth it.”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I said.”

  “The hell it isn’t.”

  She’d seen the look on his face, had known she was hurting him, but didn’t try to stop. And look where it had gotten her.

  She was determined not to risk love, to protect herself from pain. Yet here she was, tears blurring her eyes every time she thought of going through life without Jamie Cooper.

  She swiped a tear angrily from her cheek. She didn’t cry.

  But she was crying now. And didn’t seem able to stop. Grabbing a sofa pillow, she buried her face against it and finally wept.

  She wept for the first time since she’d accepted that Dan was going to die. Since she’d discovered that the trust she’d given so freely had been violated not only by him but also by her best friend.

  But tonight she wept because she would miss Cooper. Because she had hurt him and because her plan to save herself this kind of pain was as stupid as pretending she didn’t love him.

  An hour later, she’d cried herself out. Her nose was red, her eyes were swollen, and her head pounded. She was a total mess. And she couldn’t do this anymore.

  • • •

  He’d blown it.

  Coop lay on his sofa in the dark staring at the ceiling. He’d blown it big-time. He’d rushed her, and Rhonda Burns wasn’t a woman who could be rushed.

  He should have left her alone for a while longer. He shouldn’t have pushed. He’d known she needed space and time to think and remember and digest everything that had happened between them.

  So what had he done? Trapped her in her office like a cornered animal. Forced her to deal with both a current and a past trauma, when she’d just been through a life-or-death experience.

  What a dumbass. Even without all the outside factors to push her to the edge, he’d known she couldn’t be manipulated into like-minded thinking. He didn’t know why he’d thought he could convince her of something she wasn’t sure of. Something she was afraid of.

  Temporary insanity was his best guess.

  And now he didn’t know how to fix things.

  He hadn’t seen Rhonda since the day they’d taken down Marjorie Reynolds.

  “Leave of absence,” Mike had told him when he’d asked where Rhonda was. “She’s been through a helluva trial by fire, and I’d have been concerned if she hadn’t asked for some time off. Glad she’s taking care of herself. Speaking of which, you are officially on the DL. No arguments; take the rest of the week off. And consider yourself lucky I didn’t fire your ass for being an idiot in the briefing room that day.”

  So he’d gone home. And there he’d stayed.

  Brooding.

  Accepting that for the first time in his life, he was in love and, because of his own stupidity, as alone as a lighthouse keeper at the North Pole.

  “Pity party, your table is ready,” he muttered.

  When his doorbell rang, he almost didn’t answer it. Probably Taggart, bent on harassing him—the big guy’s method of showing a little love.

  Fine. Maybe he could use some company. He turned on the end table light, then shuffled to the door on bare feet and opened it—and there stood Rhonda.

  She didn’t say a word.

  He didn’t do much better. “Um . . .”

  “Can I come in?”

  Like he was going to say no?

  He stood back, and she stepped inside. That’s when he noticed that her eyes were puffy and her nose was swollen and red. Even her lips looked sore.

  “What—”

  She held up her hand, cutting him off. “I don’t know how yet, but I’m going to figure out how to deal with this, because I can’t pretend anymore that I don’t love you. But I swear to God, Jamie Cooper, if you let me down, I will seriously hurt you.”

  It took several nanoseconds for her announcement to kick in. “Seriously?”

  “No. Of course, I could never hurt you.” A tear trickled down her cheek. She swore and brushed it away. She was crying. And he was suddenly the happiest man on earth.

  “So . . . just for clarification . . . was that a proposal, Buttercup?”

  Tears matted her gorgeous lashes when she looked at him. “Do you want it to be?”

  He pulled her against him with his good arm. “Oh, yeah.”

  “Then don’t ever call me Buttercup again.”

  He kissed her. Then kissed her again. “Not even when I do that little thing that makes you scream?”

  She finally gave him a watery smile.

  • • •

  “What brought about this change of heart?” he asked when they were naked and wrapped around each other in bed.

  “With age comes wisdom,” she said, nuzzling his neck.

  “You’ve aged since Monday? Is that what you’re saying?”

  She touched her fingers to his cheek. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I was fighting for my life. At least, it felt like I was.”

  “So what happened? What changed your mind?”

  She looked into his eyes. “Have you read the file on Marjorie Reynolds?”

  That was the last thing he’d expected. “No. Should I?”

  She nodded gravely.

  “Any specific part?” he asked, still mystified.

  “I’d say the part about humanity—but you won’t find any in that file. All you’ll find is abuse and betrayal and pain. Circumstances and bad choices made her into an emotionless monster. A shell of what she could have been.”

  “If you’re trying to make some parallel between her and you—”

  “No.” She shook her head, the silk of her hair tickling his chin. “I’m trying to say that all of us get a raw deal at some time or another. Marjorie Reynolds got more than her share. She could have used those experiences to help others who suffered the kind of abuse she had. Instead, she chose to be a killer. Alone, most likely afraid, and an outcast.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be alone and afraid and an outcast.”

  “Aw, baby,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “You could never be that. Never.”

  “But I almost was. I let myself get mired in a decision that I’d carved in stone years ago. A decision that had nothing to do with now. Nothing to do with us. And not believing in us would have been the biggest mistake of my life.”

  “Do you honestly think that I was going to let you brush me off like that?”

  “I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

  “My mother didn’t raise a fool. I was so not through working on you.”

  She laughed and kissed him sweetly, deeply, and then slid her hand down between their bodies. “What about tonight? Are you through working on me tonight?”

  He groa
ned when she touched him, tangled a hand in her hair, and brought her mouth down to his. “Trust me—I’ve barely gotten started.”

  A New Day

  Life is sweet.

  —Jamison Cooper

  43

  7:45 a.m., McLean, Virginia

  Three months later, the teams resumed their monthly breakfast get-togethers.

  Coop sat with his back to the wall of a new restaurant Rhonda had found. She’d checked it out personally, booked the reservation personally, and, despite protocol, did not log their true whereabouts anywhere at work. That lesson had been learned the hard way. No one but the Black Ops and ITAP team members knew where they were gathered this beautiful April morning.

  Soon the rest of the teams would start to show up, but the Bombshell was the only reason he’d gotten up early. He just loved watching her walk into a room. And ba-da-bing, there she was now.

  Her golden hair gently ruffled by the morning breeze, her blue eyes sparkling, her soft pink angora sweater hugging her like a lover.

  “What’s the deal?” she asked, joining him at the table. “I woke up, and you were gone.”

  “I wanted to get here early.”

  “Didn’t trust my recon?”

  “Didn’t want to miss your entrance. Woman, you sure know how to wear a sweater.”

  “Why can’t you just have a foot fetish?” She poured herself a cup of coffee.

  He laughed, then leaned over and kissed her. “Oh, I’ve got one of those, too. I’m trying not to overwhelm you with all my little quirks at once.”

  “Speaking of quirks,” she said, looking toward the door, “what’s with Bobby lately?”

  Coop watched as Taggart walked toward them. “What do you mean? He looks like the same Neanderthal I’ve grown to know and love.”

  “I heard that, Hondo.” Taggart sat down beside Rhonda. “How are you, sweetheart? Come to your senses yet? This guy’s not good enough for you. Tell me you left him.”

  She kissed his cheek. “You’ll be the first to know if that happens.”

  Taggart looked disgusted. “He really told you why we call him Hondo, and that didn’t send you running for the door?”

  “Careful,” Coop warned him with a grin. “Or I’ll tell her why we call you Boom Boom.”

  “I thought it was because he’s a munitions expert,” Rhonda said.

  “And you’d be right,” Taggart assured her, glaring at Cooper.

  Coop laughed. “It’s his story. Guess I’ll let him tell it his way . . . for now.” Then he made a big show of whispering to Rhonda, “Beans.”

  She laughed, and he continued, “And don’t even think about threatening me, big guy, or I’ll tell the Bombshell here that you were the one who gave her that name. Whoops. There goes another cat out of the bag.”

  Rhonda scowled at Taggart. “You’re responsible for that?”

  “What does it feel like to be hooked up with a squealer?” Taggart asked her.

  She shook her head. “You’re both a couple of big kids, you know that?”

  Coop lifted his coffee. Taggart did the same. Then they clinked mugs and toasted in unison, “Growing old is mandatory. Growing up is optional.”

  “It’s a good thing,” Rhonda muttered into her cup, but she was smiling, and Coop knew she loved their silliness as much as she loved him.

  Life was sweet.

  But Coop had also noticed that something was off with Taggart. Just a beat here or there. Or a moment when he’d catch Taggart in deep thought, as if he was a million miles away. Whatever it was, it would come out eventually. It always did.

  Rhonda waved as Stephanie and Joe Green arrived, and it wasn’t long before almost every member of the Black Ops and ITAP teams showed up. Proof to the bad guys that if anyone messed with them, they’d only come out stronger.

  “Oh, my gosh.” Rhonda pressed a hand over her heart, and tears pooled in her eyes as she looked toward the door. “Eva.”

  Coop walked over to meet Eva and Mike, who stood protectively beside her.

  “Are you . . . should you . . . can I . . . ?”

  Eva smiled. “Yes, I’m ready to be out. Yes, I should be here. And yes, you can hug me.”

  Coop carefully folded her in his arms. “Welcome back, stranger.”

  “Thank you.”

  They were both teary-eyed when he gently returned her to her husband.

  “Let’s get this show on the road,” Mike said cheerily. “I’m hungry.”

  After they’d all caught up with their lives and finished their breakfasts, Mike reached into his pocket for his jack of hearts. “Well, I guess it’s that time.”

  “You don’t need to get your cards out, boys,” Rhonda said as the three men reached into their pockets. “Cooper’s paying for breakfast today. He insists.”

  “Hey.” Coop grinned at her. “You’re not the boss of me.”

  Chuckles and a few hoots echoed around the table.

  She leaned in and kissed him. “You do realize that you’re the only one who actually believes that.”

  Keep reading for a sneak peek

  of Cindy Gerard’s next military romantic suspense

  set in the world of the One-Eyed Jacks series

  TAKING FIRE

  Coming Spring 2016 from Pocket Books!

  1

  “Lord love a duck.” Looking shocked and pleased, Ted Jensen pushed back his desk chair and stood when he saw Bobby Taggart in his doorway. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  Though Jensen was the security chief at the American embassy in Oman, the grin splitting his face revealed the Alabama boy Bobby knew well and loved to hassle.

  “Thought someone woulda killed you by now,” Jensen added, his grin widening.

  Bobby gripped the rough hand his old friend extended across the sleek walnut desk. “Trust me, it’s not for lack of trying on their part.”

  Jensen laughed, rounded his desk, and trapped Bobby in a hard bear hug.

  Bobby hugged him tight, glad to see him. Back in the day, when both were Special Forces, they’d served together on many deployments. Saved each other’s asses more than once, too. Jensen had retired from the military and used his spotless record to get this gig in the Diplomatic Service. Bobby had hired on for private contract work in Afghanistan, but now worked for the Department of Defense.

  “It’s good to see you, man.” Jensen finally released him. “I really was afraid you were dead.”

  “Highly exaggerated rumors,” Bobby told him.

  “You look damn good, given that ugly mug of yours.”

  “Says the man with the face like a waffle iron.”

  Jensen chuckled. “So how’ve you been, Boom Boom? I heard about the exoneration. Always knew those charges were bogus. What never made sense was why they charged you in the first place.” His look promised a sympathetic ear if Bobby needed it.

  Maybe if he were good and drunk, he’d indulge in a little info share. But sober, Operation Slam Dunk and the debacle that followed was a subject he never talked about.

  “Water. Bridge,” he said with a dismissive shrug, then made an appreciative scan of the lavishly furnished office. “You’re clearly top dog in these parts.”

  “Don’t let the fancy digs fool you.” Jensen gestured toward a chair before sinking down in his own. “The dog house may be top drawer, but I’m still guarding a junkyard.”

  “So I’ve heard. And that’s why I’m here.”

  “No shit?” Jensen narrowed his brows. “You’re the big shot badass the DOD sent to bust my chops?”

  “Drew the short straw.”

  “Huh.” Thoughtful, Jensen reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out two glasses and a bottle of scotch. He gave Bobby an expectant look and when he nodded, poured them each two fingers.

&
nbsp; “All the straws seem to come up short these days,” Bobby added after tossing back the scotch. “You okay with me trying to poke holes in your operation?”

  Oman wasn’t exactly a hotbed of terrorist activity, but given their strategically important position at the mouth of the Persian Gulf, their shared borders with UAE, Saudi Arabia, and Yemen, plus their common marine borders with Iran and Pakistan, Oman’s stability and that of the U.S. Embassy were paramount. Add in the ISIS threat and the volatility of the entire Middle East, and the State Department wasn’t taking any chances.

  So Bobby had been assigned to assess the security, recommend upgrades if necessary, and authorize the resources to get it done. Since Jensen was in charge of that security, Bobby was going to be tromping all over his dance floor.

  Jensen said, “I’ve got a good team here. We’ve got a solid plan in place. But if I’ve got holes, I want them found. I don’t want another Benghazi on my watch.”

  Neither did Bobby. The September 11, 2012, terrorist attack on the U.S. Embassy in Benghazi, Libya, had left more than the ambassador tragically and needlessly dead. Three other U.S. nationals—their brothers-in-arms—had died protecting American interests, because bureaucrats and politicians had ignored repeated concerns about the lack of adequate security at the compound.

  “At least the Benghazi debacle brought attention to the need and opened the government’s wallet,” Bobby said. “So where do you want me to start?”

  “You mean right this minute? Hell, no. It’s almost six p.m., and we haven’t seen each other in years. You can attack the defenses first thing in the morning. Right now, we’re gonna go tie one on for old times’ sake.”

  Bobby sank back in his chair with a grin. Maybe Ted was right. Maybe a stiff drink, some good ole days conversation, and a good night’s sleep were in order. Especially after the ridiculously long flight with all its delays and jet lag.

  “All right,” he agreed. “I’m in.”

  Then he heard a voice from the hallway—a voice he hadn’t heard in six years but had never forgotten. And whatever Ted had in mind for tonight faded like a freighter sinking into a deep ocean fog.