Second-Chance Hero

by Justine Davis

  Marly grudgingly followed her, muttering all the way that they should be out looking for Draven instead. Grace registered this, and wondered when the man had become so important to the girl, despite their disagreements. For a guy who insisted he knew nothing about kids, he’d certainly made an impression on this one. Perhaps she was the one who should be learning from him when it came to relating to her daughter.

  “Hell of a way to wake up in the middle of the night,” Nick said when he saw Grace approaching. “Oops,” he added when he saw Marly behind her. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. It seems she has her own vocabulary to apologize for,” Grace said dryly.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Marly muttered. “Where’s Draven?”

  “Mr. Draven,” Grace corrected automatically.

  “Yesterday he said to call him Draven,” Marly protested.

  “Haven’t seen him yet,” Nick said, cutting off the incipient argument. “Must be out prowling around.”

  She glanced at Marly, then asked Nick, “You don’t think he might be hurt? That shot…”

  “Nah. He’s the toughest man I’ve ever met. He knows his stuff. If anybody’s hurt out there, I’d lay odds it’s the guy behind all this nuisance.”

  “How can you be sure?” Marly asked.

  Nick looked at the girl. “Honey, that man went into the jungle of Nicaragua and pulled out some warlord’s prime prisoner, all by himself. You think he can’t handle some two-bit drug dealer’s flunky?”

  Marly stared at Nick. “He did?”

  “And single-handedly rescued the entire Redstone staff when some extremist in the Philippines grabbed them to try to blackmail Josh into using his influence to get their friends out of jail.”

  The girl was gaping now, like a youngster who has just gotten the first glimpse of a much bigger, wider world than was encompassed in her own narrow view.

  Grace knew Nick had been telling those tales to reassure Marly, but in the process he’d managed to reassure her a bit as well. But as long as there was no sign of Draven, she wasn’t going to be certain he was all right.

  It was only natural that she feel disturbed, she told herself. After all, the man was part—a very big part, much bigger than she herself—of Redstone, and they truly were all one family. And he’d come here to protect her project, so of course she felt guilty that he might be hurt in the process.

  Not to mention the fact that she owed him her life. How could she not be upset at the prospect?

  “You and the crew stick close by here until we know for sure. I don’t want anybody…getting hurt,” Grace told him, first hesitating, then omitting the phrase “anybody else.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Nick said, a bit fervently. “I’m not big on getting shot at.”

  Grace looked at Marly. “Let’s go over to the trailer. You’re good with those security monitors and recordings, let’s see if we can see anything.”

  Brightening at the prospect and, Grace hoped, at the compliment, Marly nodded quickly and started that way. Grace followed this time, vaguely aware that her leg was protesting the extra time on her feet tonight. She was comfortable with the prosthetic, but that didn’t mean the stump of her leg had completely toughened up yet. She might have to give it a rest if this kept up.

  Marly trotted up the trailer steps and opened the door.

  “Hey!” the girl yelped.

  Fear shot through Grace. She leapt up the two steps in one move, landing on the artificial foot. Ignoring the pain that stabbed through her leg, she yanked Marly back.

  And then she saw what had startled the girl.

  Draven.

  Alive, well and sitting at the monitors calmly scanning recorded images.

  Draven had turned when he’d heard the noises outside, hand reaching for the weapon at the small of his back. It was probably just Nick, he’d seen the lights go on over there, but he wasn’t big on taking anything for granted. It was one reason he was still alive.

  When he saw who was there, he realized he shouldn’t be surprised. He should have known the girl wouldn’t be able to stay put forever with all this activity going on.

  When Grace pulled the girl aside and put herself in front of her, he was puzzled for a moment.

  When Grace swore at him, something he’d never heard her do despite provocation, he was more than puzzled, he was startled.

  “I don’t think my mother would appreciate the characterization,” he said mildly.

  “Then she should have taught you better manners!”

  “Grace—”

  “Did it never occur to you that we all heard that shot?”

  “Of course—”

  “Or that none of us knew where you were?”

  “The alarm—”

  She swore at him a second time. “Damn it, Draven, we didn’t know if you were lying out there bleeding to death or what!”

  He blinked. “Me?”

  “Even the great Draven isn’t invulnerable,” she snapped. “For all we knew, that shot had hit you. For all we knew, you were dead.”

  “Not likely,” he said, more than a little stunned by the turn this had taken.

  Grace stared at him. High emotion was roiling in her eyes, and he wasn’t sure why. There was a trace of lingering fear, yes, but any mother would feel that way, wouldn’t they, hearing a shot and having their child in the vicinity?

  He couldn’t think of any other explanation for her state. Of course, he could barely think at all, looking at her. The only thing that was clear in his mind was that Grace, angry, was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen in his life. He told himself it was because he knew up close and personal how close she’d come to dying, that seeing her so alive and vibrant now was just a spectacular comparison.

  But on some level, someplace buried deep inside, he knew better. He knew it was more than that. Knew there was something within him responding to her in a way he’d never felt before. He knew it. Just like he knew he could never acknowledge that fact.

  At a loss for what else to do, he tried to reassure her. “It would take more than a guy with lousy aim and a popgun to do any real damage.”

  She continued to stare. Then, when she finally spoke again, he winced inwardly.

  “Kryptonite?” she suggested, in that sweet voice that he’d learned meant it was time to tread very carefully.

  Marly giggled, taking the edge off the confrontation.

  “I never said I was a superhero.” His voice sounded stiff even to his own ears.

  “Contrary to your reputation?” Grace said, her voice still carrying that tone that made him wary.

  Draven wasn’t sure what to say. After a moment’s pondering he decided the best course was to say nothing just now. Let her take the lead, answer only what he had to and hope she calmed down. He wasn’t sure exactly what had her so wound up anyway.

  “What happened?” Marly asked. “Was it the bad guy this time?”

  With a wary glance at Grace, Draven answered her. “It was somebody. The alarm scared him off.”

  “Did you hit him?”

  He frowned at the girl’s obvious enthusiasm. “I never got close enough to even throw a punch.”

  “I meant shoot him,” Marly explained.

  “Sorry to disappoint,” he said, “I never drew my weapon.”

  “Oh.”

  She did sound disappointed. Again. He guessed he just wasn’t living up to her image. But there really had been no point in trying to shoot back when the man had fired at him. Besides the fact that he didn’t want to start a running gun battle here on the site. He preferred to choose his own ground for that kind of thing.

  He’d heard the round whistle past his ear. Realized right away that if he’d ducked left instead of right, he’d likely be dead, a round buried somewhere in his head. He’d wondered if the shooter was that good, or just lucky. Logic told him if it was somebody connected to el mercader, it was skill. If not, all bets were off, it could go either way.

  Crou
ching below the level of the brush, he had worked his way toward the hollow he thought the shot had come from. He had a feeling the shooter was long gone, that the round he’d capped off had been more warning than anything else, but that was another thing he didn’t take for granted.

  “Did you see him?” Grace asked.

  “Not well,” he said. “Enough to see he was male, thin and wiry. Not too tall, maybe five-eight or nine. But I got a look at his car.”

  “What was it?”

  He looked at her, a vision of her finding it and confronting the driver shooting through his mind and making him cringe inwardly.

  “You’ve got to promise—both of you—” he added with a glance at Marly “—that if you see it you do nothing. You let me know and you stay away. Period. No exceptions. And that goes for the crew, too. I don’t want anybody getting hurt here.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Marly muttered.

  “She promises,” Grace said. “And so do I. Nick will get the word to the crew.”

  After a moment, Draven realized he had little choice. The more eyes looking for this guy, the quicker they’d find him.

  “Light-colored four-door, maybe off-white or a light yellow. American make. Older, kind of beat-up, with big, square taillights. Got a clatter in the engine, like it’s got a bad valve.”

  And he would remember the sound if he ever heard it again. He’d listened to it pull away, his eyes closed to concentrate on the sound, committing the sour note to memory. He had a good ear for machinery, and knew he’d recognize it.

  “Did you get the license?” Marly asked excitedly.

  “Partial,” Draven said, stifling the twitch of his lips at her enthusiasm. “There was some mud on the plate, covering a couple of the numbers.”

  “Can you still check it, like the cops do? And find out who owns it?”

  “It’s harder with only a partial, but it can be done.” His mouth quirked. “But there aren’t that many cars on the island in the first place. Be faster to just look for it.”

  “Oh.” Again that disappointment in the girl’s voice. But Draven didn’t mind; at least things had calmed down. Enough that he felt safe in pointing out that they weren’t supposed to go anywhere without him.

  “But you were gone,” Marly said in response. “How could we go with you?”

  Now there was teenage logic, Draven thought. “You weren’t supposed to go at all,” he said.

  “But we were worried,” Marly pointed out in turn.

  “You both were safest staying in the motor home.”

  “Us?” Marly scowled at him. “You are so dense!”

  He drew back slightly, wondering what had brought that assessment on.

  “Did it never occur to you,” Marly asked, in a startlingly adult-sounding voice, “that it was you we were worried about?”

  Something slammed into his chest with the force of a fist. “Me?” he asked.

  Or tried to, the word came out very oddly, almost like a startled squeak. He looked at Grace, who was watching him steadily. He saw something in her eyes that tightened the knot that was making it hard to breathe.

  “Is it that strange,” she asked softly, “to think somebody might actually worry about you?”

  Yes, was the answer that came to his lips, but he bit it back. It sounded too damned pitiful.

  “Don’t worry about me. It’s my job.” He managed to keep his voice fairly level.

  “They’re not mutually exclusive,” Grace said.

  “They should be,” he said, not liking how gruff he sounded, but seemingly he’d lost control over that, too.

  He didn’t want to think that simply coming here and facing the woman who haunted him—for he’d finally had to admit to himself that it was Grace herself who haunted him, not what he’d had to do to her—had so shaken him. Didn’t want to admit she had that much power over him. Especially knowing she had never intentionally done a thing to wield that power. Probably didn’t even know she had it.

  How could she know? To her, he was eternally connected to her nightmare, what had to be the worst trauma of her life. How could she know, and why would she care if she did know, that it haunted him, too? What right did he have to be preoccupied about it? It was her body, her life that had been irrevocably changed. He’d walked away, as he had countless times before.

  Only now was he facing the possibility that while he might have walked away, he’d never really left it behind.

  And for the first time in his life and career, he wanted to quit in the middle of a job.

  Chapter 14

  Draven had changed, somehow.

  Grace considered this as she looked at him across the motor home’s table. Marly was in the bathroom, where she was sure the girl would take at least an hour on her new, experimental beauty regimen. It tugged at her heart; her little girl was growing up. And it was going to be a battle, the wisdom of age combating the ignorance of youth, bouncing her back and forth between near-adult acumen and childish lack of judgment.

  But she had to go through it, and there was nothing Grace could do about it except be there. So she turned back to the silent man sitting across the table. This had become somewhat of a routine since that day at the lagoon; she would get up, fix coffee, and the smell drew him in.

  There was something different about him since last night, when the alarms had sounded. It wasn’t anything obvious, anything she could pinpoint. He went about his work as before—and still not sleeping enough, she thought—and acted the same as he always had.

  But there was something in the way she would catch him looking at her, watching, as if she were…something he was trying to figure out.

  When he’d first arrived it had been painful just to look at him, to see that rough, angular, scarred face and remember the first time she’d seen it, looming over her, at that moment the most welcome sight in the world. Her salvation, her deliverance from death. And then the dispenser of agony.

  Now, if she was honest, she’d have to admit part of the difficulty of having him here was based in the attraction she felt. And because you’re embarrassed to even look at him, after that dream you had, she told herself sourly.

  She looked out the window and somewhat wistfully remembered the time when she’d been free to come and go as she pleased. And how it felt to not be worrying about the job, a constant concern now.

  She didn’t think she’d made a sound, but he looked up from the cup of coffee he held. It was still the strongest stuff she’d ever tasted, but she supposed he needed it that way to keep going as he did. She’d have been facedown in the dirt long before now. But it was starting to show, she thought. Finally. His eyes were as vivid and alert and wary as ever, but there were shadows beneath them, painted there by the lack of sleep.

  When she poured her own coffee, she only poured a half a cup and then diluted it with hot water to make it drinkable. He’d told her she didn’t need to make it stronger for him, he appreciated her simply making it. But it was easy enough to doctor her own, and she felt it was the least she could do.

  She heard the shower start, and knew her daughter would be in there until the hot water ran out. And now, she knew, was her chance to bring up what had been bothering her ever since Marly had said it.

  “May I ask you something, about that day in Turkey?”

  He didn’t move, but somehow she thought he’d tensed. She picked her next words carefully.

  “Does that day…bother you?”

  He looked up then. “Bother me?” He gave a short, hard laugh. “Bother isn’t the word I’d use, no.”

  She had to know if Marly’s theory was wrong—she didn’t think she could bear to make a fool out of herself by assuming he even thought about that day much at all.

  “What word would you use?”

  He held her gaze for a long moment. Her heart started to pick up speed, and she wasn’t even sure why. She thought she saw hints of a battle taking place in his head, and wondered if it was some very rare moment when
he let something show, or if she was possibly getting better at reading him.

  “Please,” she said. “It’s important to me.”

  A muscle in his jaw jumped. She tried not to read too much into it, tried not to think that it really meant so much to him that he couldn’t speak of it.

  “Haunt,” he finally said.

  She sucked in a breath. Marly had been right. “Surely you’ve seen worse things.”

  He nodded. “And done worse. But never to a civilian, an innocent.”

  She got up then. She faced him, standing tall and straight, her head up. “I’m standing here, alive and well,” she said with emphasis on the last word, “because of you.”

  “Ian Gamble,” he said.

  “Yes, him, too, but if not for you, I wouldn’t have been around to try out his new foot. I wouldn’t be here at all.”

  He gave that half shrug again, as if he were very uncomfortable with the turn this had taken.

  “Grace—”

  “No, let me finish. I know there was no other choice. I understand that.” She paused, to let him know she knew there was a big difference, then she added firmly, “I believe that.”

  He was staring at her. And she saw in those green eyes that haunt was indeed the word; it was as if she could see a string of countless nights fraught with images as ugly as her own.

  “How can you do that?” he said at last, and there was an undertone in his voice that she’d never heard before. It sounded almost like wonder. “I cut into your living flesh, sawed off a part of your body, caused you horrific pain and hardship for the rest of your life.”

  “You may not believe this, but it’s truly not like that anymore. There are so many who are worse off. I kept my knee, do you have any idea how important that is?”

  He shook his head, slowly. “I maimed you and you’re…absolving me? Forgiving me?”

  It was worse than she’d feared, Grace thought. She spoke quickly, putting all the sincerity she felt into her words.

  “There’s nothing to forgive. You didn’t cause any of what happened. You only did what had to be done. If you hadn’t, I’d be dead. I would never see my daughter grow up, and she would be stuck for the rest of her life with only a father who didn’t want her.”