by Low, Gennita
“No problem.”
“So, are you sleeping with my sister, or what?” Brett asked.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‡
From her position on the back porch, Zoe listened to her mother and Hawk talk as they cleaned up the kitchen after dinner. “I’ve been doing some physical conditioning to get back up to speed, now that I can run again,” he said.
He’d never stopped training, just running. She had grown accustomed to his daily schedule in the last few weeks. Even though he’d had to pamper his knee, he hadn’t missed a morning in the rec room lifting weights or of late using the exercise bicycle.
He had more discipline, was more deeply committed to his job, than anyone else she knew. Could he commit himself to her with half as much resolve?
Everything grew quiet. Her mother came out onto the porch. She sat next to Zoe on the glider and sighed as she set it in motion.
“I’ve missed this,” Clara said. “I think you’re right, this is the best room in the whole house.” She tilted her head back against the top of the glider and closed her eyes. “Are you and Hawk having an affair?”
Zoe’s stomach lurched. She wasn’t ready for this. She stared out at the large, orange, ball-shaped sun that hung on the horizon before turning to look at her mother. “We’ve gotten really close. He’s been a rock for me, for Brett.”
Her mother opened her eyes and looked at her. “And me. You don’t have to sing his praises to me, Zoe. I know he’s a good man.”
“But?” Zoe heard the defensiveness in her own voice.
“No, buts.” Clara met her gaze head on. “You’re an adult, this is your business. I just want you to be careful.”
Careful. It was too late for careful. “How did you do it, Mom? How did you watch Dad leave and not die inside every time? How did you not resent the fact that he wanted the Marine Corps more than he wanted us?”
“That isn’t true, Zoe.”
The shock in her mother’s expression, her voice, had Zoe studying her features.
“Your father never wanted to leave us, Zoe. He loved us. He didn’t want to go.” Clara grasped her arm. “That last time—You weren’t completely recovered, and he knew we needed him home. But he had a commitment to his men. They were depending on him.”
Zoe pushed back that small part of her that urged her to ask, “Why weren’t we first?”
“Your father believed in what he was doing, Zoe. I knew when I married him he was a Marine. It was important to him. As important as being a SEAL is to Hawk.”
Zoe stopped the glider as she leaned forward to prop her head in her hands. “The team is Hawk’s family. He’s been in the Navy since graduating college. I think it’s taken the place of the real family he didn’t have.” Who else did he have? Her stomach clenched at the thought. She looked up. “I know it’s more than that. He thrives on the camaraderie, the connection he has with his men. He has to protect and serve his country. It’s his life.”
She sat back and ran restless fingers through her hair dragging it back from her face. Could she share him with his unit? If she stayed with Hawk, she had to find a way to deal with these feelings of abandonment. She couldn’t project that resentment onto him. It would eventually destroy their relationship.
Her mother laid a hand on her arm, and Zoe looked up. “Now that Brett is awake, they’ll discharge him from the hospital pretty quickly. You said you wanted to stay out here with him, but if you need time to think, you could go back to help Sharon for a few weeks.”
An empty ache hollowed Zoe’s stomach and squeezed her heart at the idea. How could she ever think she could leave him? God, she loved him so much.
“How many more weeks before Sharon can drive?” she asked.
“Three.”
Zoe swallowed. “The doctor’s already released Hawk to go back to full duty. A few weeks or months after that his unit could be called up.” She closed her eyes against the urge to cry. “I want to spend as much time with him as I can.”
Clara nodded. “I understand.”
She really did. Zoe read it in her mother’s expression, in her eyes. “This is really hard, Mom.”
“We don’t pick the people we love, Zoe. We just love wherever our heart takes us. I love Hawk too, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” Zoe moved to lean her head against her mother’s shoulder and Clara grasped her hand tightly in hers.
“You’ve done hard before. If it came easy, it wouldn’t mean as much. Your father and I crammed as much loving into our lives, in the months he was home each year, as most people do in a lifetime, Zoe. I don’t have any regrets. I always knew he loved me.”
“Is that why there’s never been anyone else?” Zoe asked.
“He was a hard act to follow. And I had you, Sharon, and Brett to think about. Brett’s so like his father.”
Zoe squeezed her mother’s hand. “Yes, he is. He’ll come back from his head injury and get back to his unit. I know he will.”
Clara drew a deep breath. “Sharon’s going through a depression because of the hysterectomy. She’s going to bounce back, but it’s going to take time.” She pressed her cheek against Zoe’s forehead. “We’ve all done hard,” Clara said. “I just wish we could do easy a little more often.”
“Me too, Mom. Me too.”
*
Damn, it felt good to be back in action. After only a week he was recovering his stamina and muscle tone. Having finished his reconnaissance, Hawk squatted within the cover of the thick brush, and eyed the block building they were using for the close quarter drill. The assignment was to surprise the pretend terrorists inside, capture them, and free the pretend hostages without a loss of life. He pondered several possible scenarios. Doc appeared next to him and Hawk signaled a withdrawal. They fell back to the road.
Hawk checked the safety of his nine-millimeter sig, even though it was only loaded with simunition, and holstered it. He removed a scrap of paper from his jacket pocket and sketched a map of the interior of the building. He spread it out on the hood of the armored Humvee and motioned for Strong Man, Doc, Flash, and Bowie to gather close.
“There are six tangos and two hostages. The hostages are being held in the kitchen on the west side. This is the plan.”
Doc and Strong Man disappeared into the brush going west. Flash and Bowie followed a few minutes later. Hawk worked his way north, using the clusters of palm as cover. Scoping out the front door, he watched as one of the tangos inside paused before the window to look out, then moved away.
Crawling beneath the brush, Hawk worked his way to the corner of the yard. He removed the field binoculars from around his neck to check the position of the men inside. There were three in the front room but three others he couldn’t see. He narrowed his eyes against the reflective glare of the setting sun and clicked his radio, “Three tangos here.”
Derrick’s voice came over the radio at a whisper. “One in sight here playing guard to the hostages.”
“Two in the kitchen,” Doc’s voice said into his ear.
Hawk clicked his radio once to let them know he understood. Crawling to a spot diagonal to the front windows, he looked one last time, then tucked the binoculars inside his shirt. The coast clear, Hawk leaped to his feet and ran the distance from the brush to the front door.
Hugging the wall next to it, he removed his pack and retrieved the block of C-4 Bowie had given him and the hardware he needed to rig the detonation. Careful to visually measure the amount of explosive he intended to use, he pinched off small squares of the plastique, mashed them into the door hinges. He checked the wireless remote to make certain it was working, then hooked the detonator to the plastique and wired the rest of the circuit.
He eased off the front stoop and bobbed up to look through the window to check the position of the men inside. He meant to blow the door off its hinges, not take out the front of the house or injure anyone inside the room. In a real scenario, he wouldn’t be so careful unless hostage
s were in the room.
Hawk crawled around the edge of the house to the east corner bedroom. Popping up, he checked to make sure the room was empty then stood up. He removed his K-bar and dug at the putty that held one of the windowpanes into the frame. He cut it away then pulled the pane free. Inserting his hand, he unlocked the window and pushed it up.
Muffled voices came through the bedroom door from the front room. He paused, checking to make sure none of the tangos were on their way to check out any sound he had made. Nothing.
He shrugged free of his pack and eased it inside the room to one side of the window, then boosted himself over the edge into the house. Even the rustle of his clothing sounded loud and his every muscle tensed as he waited to see if his entrance had been heard. He clicked his radio, letting the men know he was in position.
A few seconds passed then he heard the distinct reply from each of the other men. They were in position.
Hawk pulled down the protective goggles, flipped the detonator on and pushed the button. A loud “whomp” shook the bedroom door. He dropped the detonator, and jerked the door open and instantaneously shot the first man he saw. A bright yellow spot of soap compound painted the front of the tango’s vest. “Down, get down.” The three other men in the room hugged the deck. A fourth ran into the room, his weapon drawn and Hawk turned taking him down.
“Clear,” Hawk said.
Doc’s voice came from the right.
Hawk pushed the protective mask up then stumbled back at the impact as a simunition cartridge skimmed his cheek. His face stung like hell and he gritted his teeth against the pain. His vision obscured by the bright yellow compound, he ripped the safety helmet from his head. His eyes teared up. “Shit.”
“All clear, the hostages are secure,” Bowie’s voice said in his ear.
“Hawk—” Doc appeared at his side and his expression going from amused to concerned in a nanosecond. “Christ! We have to get that shit out of your eyes.”
“No, shit.” Half blinded by the soap, Hawk allowed Doc to lead him into the kitchen. He hung over the sink and rinsed his face and eyes over and over with water. The burning sensation finally eased but the welt on his cheek had begun to swell and it hurt like a son-of-bitch. Someone handed him a towel and he dried his face and hair with a couple of quick swipes.
“Well, the good news is that you rescued the hostages, Lieutenant.” Lieutenant Arnold, team leader of the hostage team, said. “The bad news is you’ve been shot by one of your own men.” There was just enough smug amusement in the other man’s voice that it torked Hawk’s building anger to near explosion level. He shot Arnold a look that killed the asshole’s smile.
He looked up to see his men clustered together in the kitchen, standing watch. He would not air his teams’ dirty laundry in front of another unit. He didn’t doubt for one minute he was being fucked with.
“The loss of one man is not acceptable, we’ll be repeating a similar exercise at 0-eight-thirty tomorrow morning, until we get it right. And we’re going down to the shooting range and running practice drills until fifteen hundred today.”
Silent, somber, the men filed out the back door of the house. “Will your team be available?” Hawk asked Arnold.
“Yeah.” Arnold’s jocularity had done a one eighty and his features appeared somber. “Good thing it was a simunition round and not live ammo.”
“Yeah. I got lucky.” Hawk set aside the towel on the counter.
“We’ll be back in the morning.”
“We’ll be ready,” Arnold said.
Hawk nodded. He retrieved his pack from the bedroom and went out the door he’d blown open. His cheek throbbed like a toothache but his anger was worse.
He had just enough time to regain control of his temper before he made it back to the Humvee. Doc and Bowie each straightened from their leaning position against the vehicle as he came into sight. Derrick, resting in the shade of a scraggly elm, got to his feet. Squatting next to him, Flash straightened and turned to face him.
“You don’t fucking see me standing here because I’m dead. Dead by the hand of one of my own men.” He looked from one man to the other. “Who the fuck shot me?”
“It was me, LT,” Flash stepped forward.
A red haze of rage partially obscured Hawk’s vision. He lunged toward Flash, and it took every ounce of control he could muster not to beat the man into the ground. He thrust his face close to Flash’s and his gaze bore into his. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I tripped over Strong Man’s foot and my weapon discharged.”
“That’s a fucking rookie mistake. A god damn rookie mistake.”
Rage burned the back of his throat and had blood rushing to his ears. His cheek pounded as though someone were drilling into his face with a router.
“The next time one of you shoots me, it damn well better be with live ammo and you better kill me, because when I get up, I’m going to rip your fucking head off.”
“Get in the Humvee. We’re hitting the practice range. And tomorrow we’ll be doing the drill again.”
*
Zoe pulled into the first available space at the parking structure her thoughts on Hawk and his return to duty with his team. He seemed happier, energized being back to work. She didn’t know whether to be happy for him or resentful. She missed having him at the house.
He’d looked dangerous and handsome that morning dressed in desert camouflage pants and a dark t-shirt that hugged his muscular torso. The sunglasses he had donned had hidden his eyes and given him a menacing air. When he’d looked over them at her, she’d nearly melted beneath the heat in his gaze and came closer to doing just that when he’d grabbed her and kissed her good-bye.
The late afternoon sunlight had dimmed to a dusky glow on the horizon as she entered the hospital. Her mother had returned to Lexington and with Hawk at work, the house had seemed empty all afternoon, but it had given her some time to think. She’d filled out the application to work at the hospital. It had felt like a leap off a tall cliff into open space, but she’d done it. She’d drop it off at the office before going upstairs to see Brett.
Since it was closing time at the office, she handed the application off to one of the personnel there and wound her way down the corridor to the emergency bay waiting room to the elevators. She pushed the button next to the doors and caught a glimpse of a serviceman dressed in body armor standing at the entrance to the waiting room. From the back, his wide shoulders and pale blond hair reminded her of Derrick Armstrong.
Thoughts of Marjorie had her stepping away from the bank of elevators and limping to the door. “Derrick?”
At the sound of his name he turned to face her. Standing behind him, Doc and Bowie looked up.
“Hey, guys. What are you doing here?”
The three exchanged looks. “There was a training accident and we brought one of the team in to be checked out,” Bowie said. “We’re sticking around to give him a ride home once he’s released.”
Zoe’s attention went from one to the other. The way they kept avoiding her gaze had her breath catching in her throat. Her face felt numb. “Is it Hawk?” Her voice sounded as though from far away. “What happened?” If it wasn’t serious they wouldn’t be here.
Doc grasped her arm above the elbow. “He’s okay, Zoe. The goggles protected his eyes.”
His eyes. There was something wrong with his eyes. Her ears filled with a horrible ringing and spots swam before her vision.
“Whoa,” Bowie grabbed her upper arm as Doc’s grasp tightened. They guided her to a seat. Doc forced her head down. A wave of nausea struck her, and she thought she might throw up.
“He’s all right, Zoe. It’s just a bruise, and a little eye irritation, but we thought it best to get it checked out just in case,” Doc reassured her as he squatted close.
Someone slapped a wet cloth on the back of her neck, which helped. As the nausea passed, she eased up to test her ability to stay upright.
; “I’m good to go guys,” Hawk’s voice came from behind Bowie and Derrick. His tone changed to one of impatience as he said. “My cheekbone’s not broken just bruised. Damn paperwork took longer than the exam.”
Just the sound of his voice had quick tears stinging her eyes. She pushed herself off the seat and someone’s hand beneath her elbow offered her support.
A look of surprise flitted across Hawk’s face when he saw her. A purple bruise discolored his cheek and the whites of his eyes looked painfully inflamed. “What are you doing here, Zoe?” His tone held a hint of accusation as his gaze swept the men around her.
“I was just dropping some paperwork off at the office before going up to see Brett,” she explained. His tone, his look—he hadn’t wanted her to know. She swallowed against the painful knot of emotion lodged in her throat. “I saw Derrick standing in the waiting room and came in to see what was going on.”
He tossed his vest to Bowie and his hand curved over her shoulder and he drew her close. Zoe hid her face against his chest as she struggled against the soul pounding relief that raced through her. He smelled of sweat, him, and a foreign smell, like firecrackers. It took her a moment to process that it was gunpowder.
“I’m fine, Zo. It was just an accident.” His hand cupped the back of her head.
Unable to speak, she nodded. Dear God, how precious he was to her. She clung to him, the urge to wail her fear and grief almost more than she could control. It was some moments before she trusted herself to step back from him. Her tears left two dark wet spots on his blue t-shirt mid-chest. She looked around for the other men, but they were gone. Hawk’s body armor lay on the chair next to them.
“Let’s go home. You can call Brett from your cell in the car.”
She nodded.
*
Hawk stared at the computer screen. Writing the report for his commander hadn’t purged his feelings of betrayal, but stirred them into a fever pitch. Had Flash’s shot really been an accident? Or had it been a warning to back off? What the hell had been going on in Iraq before they came home?