SEALed With A Kiss: Heroes With Heart

by Low, Gennita

“I’m not hungry, Mama,” he said, ignoring his breakfast plate. He had stayed up all night guarding his family, and he still seethed with restless energy. With his mother puttering around him, he watched Ophelia’s interview with Rawlings on the Nikon’s previewer, unable to take his eyes off Rawlings—the slimy piece of shit. The man looked so clean-cut, so upstanding. To think that he could shoot a kid in the head just because he got on his nerves was bad enough; to have abducted Lia—Vinny’s clever, glittering Lia—made Vinny want to wrap his hands around the man’s neck and slowly squeeze the life out of him. Hell, that’s what Rawlings was doing to Vinny, who couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even eat his goddamn breakfast because his wife was in peril.

  Swallowing a bitter taste in his mouth, he wished that someone had tried to hit his house last night, after all. Not that he’d wanted Bella or his mother in harm’s way, but he’d been stewing for a fight. Still was.

  “Are you going to kill him?”

  The fearful question brought Vinny’s attention back to the present. He’d forgotten that Bella was sitting in the chair beside him, playing with her food. The dark smudges under her eyes and the pallor in her cheeks told him she had hardly slept a wink herself. “No,” he told her, “’course not. I’m not a murderer. He’s the murderer.”

  Bella nodded, her eyes watering.

  “Hey,” he said realizing she still blamed herself for everything. “This ain’t your fault, Bella. No matter what happens, you remember that. Lia does what Lia does. You didn’t force her into anything, did you?”

  She shook her head, unable to answer him.

  Just then his cell phone buzzed and he snatched it off the table, his pulse kicking to see that Joe was calling him. “Whatchu got, sir?” he demanded in lieu of a proper greeting.

  “I saw her. She’s alive.”

  “What?” Relief flooded his system, making him sink more heavily into his chair. “Where? How’d she look?”

  “I’ve been tailing Rawlings’ assistant, Dave Collum, while the others have been watching Rawlings.” Considering how little sleep the CO had probably gotten, he sounded as sharp and on-the-ball as ever. “Collum left Harrisburg early this morning. I followed them to a warehouse over in South Philly, where a guy pulls up driving Lia’s Kia Soul. The tags were different, but that dent where she backed into my mailbox is unmistakable. The assistant gets out, pays the other guy off, and then transfers Ophelia into his vehicle.”

  Vinny swallowed hard and repeated his second question through a tight throat. “How’s she look?”

  “Fine,” Joe answered rather vaguely. “But listen up. I called the cops to report a sighting on the Kia Soul, so hopefully they’ve arrested her kidnapper by now. Chances are, he was the same guy Rawlings used to murder Staskiewicz. In the meantime, I’ve tailed Collum’s vehicle to Rawlings’ Philadelphia address. It looks like Rawlings plans to go through with the exchange.”

  Vinny scrubbed a hand over his face. His eyes burned with relief and the need to have Lia safe and sound and in his arms again, but it wasn’t that easy.

  “I want you to wear Harlan’s dress whites at the funeral. Harley will be hiding so he can film Rawlings’ actions during the exchange. The more evidence we can stack against him, the less chance he can get out of the charges we level against him later.”

  “Are you sure Lia’s okay?” Vinny interrupted. Joe’s refusal to elaborate earlier made him fearful. What wasn’t Joe telling him?

  “She’s fine, Vinny. She appeared to be unconscious, which means he’s probably got her drugged. There’s a scrape on her face that Rawlings’ assistant looked upset to see,” he added on a side note, “but other than that, she’s in one piece.”

  “A scrape. How bad of a scrape? Was she beaten?”

  “I couldn’t really tell. I was too far away. Listen, I gotta go. I’ll see you before the funeral. We’ll stop by your house to pick you up and head over in one car.”

  Severing the call, Vinny looked up to see his mother and sister staring at him with identical expressions of foreboding. “She’s okay,” Vinny relayed in a voice that was thick with relief. To his chagrin, he couldn’t maintain his composure any longer. He covered his face with his hands and sobbed with relief. She was going to be back in his arms, back where she belonged by sundown. He could go on breathing.

  Thank you, dear, sweet God!

  *

  Lia surfaced from a deeply unconscious state, fighting the poison in her bloodstream long enough to determine where she was and what was happening to her.

  Why am I naked?

  Her sudden sense of vulnerability, a breath of cool air prickling her skin, heightened her awareness. She couldn’t open her eyes—her abductor had clearly upped the dose of the tranquilizer—but she didn’t have to see to know that she was being wiped down.

  A wet cloth, smelling of urine and soap, moved briskly along her upper thighs, causing her to lurch reflexively. The surface under her back felt smooth yet hard, as though she lay on a sheet draped over a table.

  “All done here,” said a mature woman with an African American cadence to her voice. “Turn her over, Mason, and we’ll clean her up from behind.”

  Appalled, Lia felt herself being flipped onto her stomach by hands that felt large yet feeble in contrast to her abductor’s. Who is touching me and why?

  The suspicion that she’d soiled herself made her face flame with mortification, but as she lay face down, those attending her didn’t seem to notice. The woman resumed her no-nonsense job of tidying her up. “There. Now we can dress her again. Try not to stare, dear. What you ought to be doin’ is asking yourself what this comatose woman is doing in our house.”

  “All I know is she’s a reporter,” answered an older man’s voice. “She must have been trying to frame the boss or something.”

  The woman sniffed. “Well, if he don’t have nothin’ to hide,” she pointed out, “then why’s he doin’ something like this? It’s immoral, is what it is.”

  “Hush, now. The walls have ears,” the man named Mason muttered. “He probably just means to teach her a lesson, is all. He’s lettin’ her go today. That’s why we’ve got to dress her in clean clothes.”

  “Well, I will say this, Mason: Jay Rawlings ain’t the man his father was. I think it’s high time that you retire. I won’t have you livin’ out your days in prison, you hear? Now hand me those clothes and help me put them on her.”

  Ophelia seized upon the words the man had spoken—he’s lettin’ her go— and clung to them like a life raft. But then the weight of the drugs fouling her system tugged at her mercilessly, pulling her back under, into a sea of unconsciousness.

  *

  As the gleaming, mahogany coffin began its descent into the gaping hole in the ground, the bagpiper, wearing a kilt that left his bare knees ruddy in the cold, drew a huge breath, inflating his instrument and filling the late afternoon stillness with a heartfelt tribute. A stiff autumn breeze forced the last golden leaf from the maple tree behind the bagpiper, sending it spiraling toward the grave and onto the lid of the casket, like Mother Nature’s silent coda for the fallen soldier being laid to rest.

  If anyone besides Vinny thought it odd that a man of Polish descent should be buried in a Lutheran cemetery to the strains of Danny Boy, they kept silent on the subject. For his part, Vinny was too busy trying not to jump out of his skin or vomit from anxiousness to question the strangeness of the proceedings. Standing by the graveside next to his CO and the senior chief, wearing Chief Harlan’s dress whites and trying to appear calm, Vinny found this particular stakeout far more nerve-wracking than any mission he’d ever been on. The clear sky and the crisp November weather ought to have reassured him. Rawlings had arrived late to stand at the back of the assembled guests. Members of Staskiewicz’s family had no idea that the man responsible for John’s murder was even in attendance.

  Throughout the ceremony, Vinny had fought the urge to shoot Rawlings malevolent glares. He’d sa
tisfied himself by searching for Chief Harlan, who was staked out under a bush with the Sig Sauer P226 safely back in his competent possession. In lieu of the high-powered scope he usually used, Harlan lay at the viewing end of Bella’s Nikon camera. Anything Rawlings said or did would be used to prosecute him to the fullest extent of the law.

  At last, the coffin settled with a thud in its final resting place.

  “Ashes to ashes,” the pastor intoned, leaning over to pinch a bit of dirt between his fingers and toss it into the grave. “And dust to dust.”

  The family members lined up to follow his example.

  With the bagpiper still wailing out the poignant melody, Vinny saw Rawlings offer a glib word to the man next to him and separate himself from the standing mourners. Vinny nudged his brother-in-law, who said out of the corner of his mouth, “I see him. Wait a bit.”

  Vinny ground his molars together. If he waited any longer, every black hair on his head was going to turn white.

  The lieutenant governor had parked his car on the other side of the cemetery, far away from the other mourners. Joe waited for the man’s silhouette to disappear behind a sarcophagus before muttering, “Now.”

  Together, he, Vinny, and Senior Chief McGuire broke away from the crowd and ghosted across the manicured grounds. The thud of Vinny’s pounding heart echoed off his eardrums, muffling the crunch of dead grass beneath their feet as they threaded their way between the headstones.

  Would Rawlings try to pull a fast one? Missing the reassuring weight of his MP5 submachine gun, Vinny wiped his damp palms on his thighs. This wasn’t combat, but he felt the same way he did at the start of every op—sick to his stomach. Anything could go wrong, affecting the outcome of his life, dictating his destiny, threatening his identity as Ophelia’s husband. His heart lurched with panic at the thought of losing her forever.

  As a unit, they zeroed in on Rawlings’ black Town Car, their steps measured and determined. The lieutenant governor lounged against his vehicle striving to look relaxed, but his gaze locked on Joe and then Senior Chief, and recognition flared in his gray eyes.

  “So,” he called when they ventured close enough to communicate, “we meet again.” His voice dripped with disdain and with the condescending tone he must have used when guiding their actions ten years ago. “I always knew one of you would go back on your word.”

  “Is that why you had Staskiewicz killed?” Joe inquired for the benefit of Chief Harlan and his camera.

  Rawlings sent him a sneer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he retorted. His gaze slid to the taped box tucked under Joe’s left arm. “Is that the book?”

  “Yes, it is.” Nothing about Joe’s voice betrayed his tension.

  “Toss it over. Then I’ll give you what you came for. And just so you know, if you plan to screw me over in the end, I’m taking you both down with me. You’re both still active duty.” He gestured at Joe and Senior Chief’s uniforms. “How’s it going to reflect on your careers if I allege that you were the ones who killed the kid and his mother? It’s my word against yours, fellas, and I’ve got power on my side.”

  “I want to see Ophelia first,” Vinny blurted. He didn’t trust Rawlings not to jump into his car and take off, nor did he give a shit about what happened ten years earlier. He just wanted Ophelia back in his arms again.

  Rawlings gestured for the book, and Vinny watched Joe toss the box onto the ground at the lieutenant governor’s feet. Satisfied, Rawlings looked at Vinny as if seeing the young SEAL for the first time. “She’s over there.” He gestured to a looming statue of a shepherd holding a sheep.

  Vinny pivoted, catching sight of a laced shoe peeking out from behind the statue and recognizing Ophelia’s Keds in an instant. “Lia!”

  He took off, not even waiting for Joe’s permission, and raced with his heart in his throat toward the sprawled figure. She lay against the statue’s base, her eyes half-open and glassy looking. One side of her cheek bore bruises and lacerations, although someone had done a fine job of cleaning her up. Her coat was buttoned to her chin, but he could see her shivering as he threw himself onto the cold ground, wrapped one arm around her, and reached at the same time for her pulse.

  “I’m here, cara mia,” he crooned, only vaguely registering the sound of Rawlings’ car door slamming shut. An engine roared to life and faded into the distance. Guided by his training as a medic, Vinny fixed his attention on the faint pulse at Ophelia’s wrist. Finding it swollen and bruised, he switched to the other arm. At the same time, a glance into her eyes confirmed that she’d been drugged.

  Her eyelashes fluttered as she sought to focus on him.

  “Vinny,” she whispered. The tragic quality of her voice arrested him from counting her heartbeats. A single tear sluiced out of the corner of one eye. “I’m so sorry,” she added, her words slurred.

  “Hush,” he exclaimed. “It’s over. You’re safe now, baby. No one’s going to hurt you again.”

  At his assertion, her face crumpled into a picture of misery. With a cluck of dismay, he gave up trying to take her pulse, gathered her into his arms, and lifted her off the ground.

  That was when he saw the blood. It had soaked the dead grass beneath the spot where she’d been lying. Horror electrified him. He searched automatically for a gun wound. Finding the hem of her coat drenched, he lifted it and realized she was bleeding down there. Jesus God, what had Rawlings done to her?

  He turned a stricken face toward the SEALs who had already reached him, enclosing the grim scene of husband and fallen wife; Chief Harlan arrived a moment later looking uncertain as he clutched Bella’s camera in his square hands.

  “Call an ambulance,” Vinny croaked in a voice he scarcely recognized as his own. “She’s bleeding.”

  Commander Montgomery already had his phone out, his eyes sliding to the scarlet smear now staining the yellowed grass.

  Chapter Seven

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  Lia kept her eyes closed, feigning sleep, even though the effects of the tranquilizer had finally worn off. Her sprained right wrist throbbed within the bandage that now kept it immobile. The sounds of the bustling hospital, audible through her closed door, reassured her that she was safe, no longer staring at her own imminent death.

  Her pregnancy, however, had not survived the trauma, a fact that dragged her spirits down into a dark, muddy place where her conscience pointed the finger of blame squarely at herself.

  She didn’t have to open her heavy eyes to know that Vinny was sitting in the chair next to her bed, his brooding gaze on her face. She could sense him there, staring at her, willing for her to wake up so they could talk. Except, she didn’t want to talk because then she’d have to accept her guilt and deal with it.

  Talk to him, you coward, her conscience commanded.

  It wasn’t fair to Vinny to leave him just sitting there, awash with confusion. She owed him an explanation. She owed him way more than that, but it was too late now.

  Dreading the conversation to come, she drew a bracing breath, forced her eyelids to open, and turned her head to meet his bloodshot gaze.

  God, if he looked that bad with deep brackets around his mouth and dark circles under his eyes, then she had to look a total wreck. “Hey,” she greeted him, in a voice scratchy with disuse.

  His gaze seemed to tunnel through her eyes into her mind. “Hey, yourself. How’re you feelin’?”

  “Sore,” she admitted, swallowing against a dry throat. “Could I have a drink of water?”

  He handed her the large plastic cup off the wheeled tray, and she whispered her thanks, nursing the chilled water from the straw while she formulated what to say to him. She thought she recalled apologizing at the cemetery when they’d been reunited, but one apology scarcely atoned for the enormity of her sins. She didn’t know where to start.

  “How long did you know?” Vinny demanded, diving right in. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he awaited her answer.

  The reminder that the precious
little life she’d been guarding was gone drove a shaft of pain straight through her heart. She lowered the cup to her lap and stared down at it, devastated. She had tried turning over a new leaf. She had wanted to put the baby first, and now it was too late. “Almost two months,” she admitted, too ashamed to even look at him.

  Stunned silence followed her reply. “Two months,” he finally repeated, in a voice that resonated with betrayal.

  “I was going to tell you,” she rushed to assure him, “but I was afraid you’d force me to quit my job and I wasn’t ready…” She cut herself off, dismayed by how petty she sounded.

  “You weren’t ready.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his hands gripping the edge of the chair he sat in, as he fought to rein in his incredulity. “Is that all you ever think of—yourself? What about the baby?” he demanded with controlled rage. “What about me? I haven’t slept or eaten or breathed in thirty-six hours because you didn’t tell me what you were up to. If I had known you were interviewing Rawlings, I would have recognized his name and realized what you were up against, and I would have protected you. None of this would have happened!”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Remorse twisted through her, wringing tears from her heart. “I was going to tell you.”

  “Really?” he scoffed, his volume climbing. “After all the secrets you’ve kept from me, how do I know you had any intention of telling me at all?”

  She gasped at the hurtful words, wrenching her gaze up in a desperate bid to convince him. “I was,” she insisted. “On Christmas day, I was going to put the pregnancy strip in your… stocking.” Her voice broke at the realization that that would never happen now. The poor little life inside of her had never stood a chance. She’d endangered it by continuing with her risky plan, knowing all the while how villainous a man Rawlings truly was. “Is he—did he get arrested yet for what he did to me?” she asked in a desperate bid to shift some of the blame off her own narrow shoulders.

  “Not yet.” Vinny sprang to his feet and stalked to the window, his agitation a clear sign that Rawlings’ continued freedom chafed at him. “The cops and the district attorney want to make sure he won’t find some kind of loophole to get around the charges.”