by Sarah Monzon
She fished out her phone from the cup holder. Might as well be productive. She opened the web browser app and typed in her favorite online junkyard. Mr. McClaren had been very clear. Only original parts were to be used on his father’s old Piper Cub. Some clients preferred their planes updated with newer equipment, and some wanted them restored to their initial grandeur. Mr. McClaren was in the latter group. Not that she minded. On the contrary. These were her favorite restorations, her favorite clients. The ones who came with personal stories and had real connections and histories with the planes. It made Jack feel like she was doing more than just mechanical and body work. She was restoring part of a family’s legacy.
The body of the almost seventy-year-old plane was in decent shape. She wouldn’t have to put in many hours beating out crunched metal or welding together pieces. Surprising for its age. Mr. McClaren had told her how his dad had used the Piper Cub as a missionary plane in Ecuador in the early ’50s to bring medical supplies and other essentials to the native tribes along the Amazon River. Mr. McClaren had choked up at that point, but Jack knew there was more to the story. Hopefully by the time she finished the restoration, she’d hear the rest of it.
She found a good deal on a part to rebuild the engine and added it to the shopping cart. Swiping the screen, she browsed for other hidden treasures.
Cold nipped her nose and fingers. Time to crank the car back up for some heat. She glanced up at the hospital’s entrance, hand frozen on the keys dangling from the ignition. A shiver ran down her spine, and it wasn’t due to the chilly temperature. Jack slumped down in the driver’s seat, willing the bucketed material to swallow her, the oversized steering wheel to somehow camouflage her body. Her eyes glued to the medium-build man standing just outside the automatic doors. When his gaze swept the parking lot as he put on his government-issued garrison cap, she shrank farther.
He was here? But how? When? Last she knew, he’d been stationed at Landstuhl in Germany. Half a world away. The whole Atlantic Ocean between them.
Her breaths came in short gasps. The flight instinct kicked on in her brain, shouting at her to start the car and drive as far and as fast as she could. But the sound of the engine turning over could draw his attention, and he’d recognize her car in a second. There weren’t many fully restored pale-blue 1957 BMW 507 Roadsters driving around Maryland. For the first time, she wished she was behind the wheel of a boring sedan instead of the vehicle she and her dad had bonded over during her high school years.
Slowly she inched across the space on her right and pressed down on the door lock on the passenger side, then repeated the process on her side. If Mitch Stavros did see her, at least she’d protected herself. Somewhat. Then again, if he did spot her, she could always run him over with her car. Then put it in reverse and do it again for good measure.
The deafening roar of her pulse beat a horror-filled rhythm in her ear. She had to get control of herself. She was safe. While Superman wasn’t likely to materialize in the deserted parking lot, she had her phone, and Brett, one of her real-life American superheroes, was only minutes away. So different from last time.
Relief sagged her tense body as Mitch turned and walked toward the designated staff parking. His souped-up diesel pickup roared to life, and he pulled out of the lot.
She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned her forehead on the steering wheel. What was she going to do now? Were there grounds to file a restraining order? She hadn’t reported Mitch’s assault three years ago because he was being shipped out. She’d just wanted the nightmare to end and thought his leaving was the solution. But now he was back. Would he seek her out? Start harassing her again? Would the police even do anything since there wasn’t a record and he hadn’t made any recent threats? Maybe she was making too much out of nothing. It was very possible he’d leave her alone.
Pounding on the window tore a scream from her throat. Heart pumping, knowing he’d driven away just to toy with her, she scrambled for her phone. As she hit speed dial for Brett, she looked up.
Breath whooshed out of her.
She’d always thought both her brothers handsome, but Brett had never looked so good to her as he did then. She leaned over and popped the door’s lock.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He slid onto the seat next to her.
Jack pushed her shoulders back and forced her lips to bend upward. Brett shipped out tomorrow. The country needed his head straight, completely focused on his missions, not wrapped around his little sister’s problems. Shoot, forget the country. She needed his mind clear. Too many servicemen and servicewomen came home in flag-covered caskets. That wasn’t going to happen to either of her brothers.
His brows pinched together as he considered her. “What’s going on?”
She shook her head and pushed out a small laugh. “Nothing. You just startled me, like you said.” A strand of hair worked loose from behind her ear and fell into her eye. She left it, silently thankful for the small curtain to hide behind. Brett had never missed much, but with his military training, he had become more alert and perceptive. She cleared her throat. “Ready for that pizza?”
Brett intercepted her hand as she reached for the keys. He held it with a gentle firmness, but she couldn’t look at him. If she did, he’d see the truth written in her eyes. She couldn’t let him deploy with that kind of distraction.
He tucked the hair behind her ear. “Jack.”
Not gonna do it. Not gonna look at him.
Light pressure on her chin had her facing him. Tears burned the back of her throat, but she swallowed them. Faster than she could build a strong facade, it crumbled around her.
Not now. Stay strong.
“What happened, Jack? Tell me.” He poked her ribs. “Don’t make me tickle it out of you.”
A genuine grunt of laughter broke past her defenses. “Like you could.”
He winked. “Don’t tempt me.”
The keys were out of the ignition and in his hand before Jack could blink. “We aren’t going anywhere until you tell me why your palms are clammy and you about jumped out of your skin a second ago.”
She glanced away from his probing eyes. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. Let’s just celebrate your last night on shore.” It took all her acting skills, but she tossed him a saucy grin. “Besides, growing up with you and Eli has more than prepared me to protect myself. If I remember correctly, I managed to hold my own against the two of you and even whipped you a few times.”
“That was a nice deflection down memory lane.” He stared her down.
Intimidation Tactics 101. Too bad it was working.
“Why do you need to protect yourself?”
Drat. How had she let that slip? Her mind raced to cover up the blunder.
“Jack.” His voice said he meant business.
She sighed. Even if she managed to sidetrack him, he’d still be distracted by this conversation later on when he should be focused on his assignments. “Fine. I saw Mitch.” No need to add a last name. Brett would know exactly who she was talking about.
His jaw ticked. “Where?”
“He came out of the hospital and drove off.”
A growl emanated from the man beside her as he tore his door open. Her eyes widened as he marched around the front of her car and yanked on her door handle. The lock held. He narrowed his eyes at her through the window and looked pointedly at the lock. The second after she flipped it up, the door opened. Cold air nipped at her nose, but it was the hardness of Brett’s face that froze her heart. What was he planning? He leaned down and hauled her up by her arm.
“Where are we going?”
“I need to do something.” His voice was tight. “And there’s no way I’m leaving you out here alone.”
“You’re overreacting—”
His quick glare silenced her protests. He dragged her along behind him, automatic doors swishing open. Her sneakers squeaked on the hard white floor, and she picked them up higher as Brett tugged on he
r upper arm. The numbness at the tip of her nose and ears began to thaw from the hospital’s warmth.
Thankfully, they hadn’t entered through the ER. The emergency room was like a jack-in-the-box. It could be calm and quiet one second, then bang!—in walked someone with protruding bones or some foreign object sticking out from a body or squirting blood all over the place. Jack swallowed down the bile the mental image had churned up. She hated the sight of blood. Which was why she’d never wanted to step foot in the hospital to begin with.
Brett stopped short, and she nearly collided with his back. She narrowed her eyes at him when he turned toward her. “Are you finished manhandling me?”
He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Through those doors is the cafeteria. Grab yourself a cup of coffee or something, and I’ll be right back.”
Unbelievable. She crossed her arms. “I’m not eating hospital cafeteria food when there’s a Giovani’s pizza with my name on it.”
“I didn’t say eat. I said coffee.” He tugged on her ponytail and grinned. “Don’t worry. I still plan to cream you in air hockey and stuff my face with a Vani pie.”
Her arms uncrossed as she stepped around him. “You better be back in ten minutes, or I’m going to the restaurant without you, and I won’t even save you a slice.”
He clutched his chest above his heart. “The cruelty.” A smile split his face, and he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Ten,” she hollered at his back as he strode down the corridor and turned out of sight.
She pivoted and then pushed open the cafeteria doors.
The place was packed, which both surprised and saddened Jack. Sure, there were probably dependents and active duty military seeing the doctors here for routine reasons, but statistics weighed on the side that a number of wounded warriors—like Brett’s partner—filled the cots behind the curtained partitions. Would there ever be peace in the world? Unfortunately, she knew the answer to that, and it wasn’t one that would have a beauty pageant contestant smiling.
Jack sighed, scanning the room. Arched glass protected the food as people slid trays and pointed to their choices. A soda machine sat beside a few industrial cylinder canisters, Styrofoam cups and a small display of Tazo teas between them. Brett had said to grab a cup of coffee, but if she drank anything with that much caffeine past two o’clock, she’d be up all night. Digging through her small handbag, she produced a few dollars and handed them to the cashier. Her palm hovered over the tea rack as she considered her choices. A bit limited since she needed something decaf. Sweet Cinnamon Spice or Passion? More in the mood for sweet instead of fruity, she picked up a cinnamon packet and ripped open the top, dropping the tea bag into a steaming cup of hot water.
Slowly she moved through the room, eyes alert to any open place to sit. None. Not a single table was available.
“Would you like to sit here with us?”
She turned toward the voice behind her, and a middle-aged woman with a short bob patted an empty chair. Six expectant faces stared up at Jack from the large round table. Her mouth hung open slightly as she frantically searched through her mental folder of excuses. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.”
The chair bounced toward her, and her eyes followed the back of it down to the legs, where an expensive Italian loafer toed the spindled wood. Her gaze shot up, and she stared into intense dark eyes. One lid lowered in a slow wink. “No imposition at all, trust me.”
Most girls would have swooned at the attention of such a handsome man, but her fainting over flirtatious comments had ended years ago. She’d learned that lesson the hard way. Her chin tilted up. She had no problem looking down her nose at the man. “No thank you.”
The woman who’d offered the invitation glared across the table. “Mind your manners. Don’t think you’re too big for me to take you over my knee.”
The man threw his head back and laughed, snickers joining him around the table. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned back toward Jack. “I apologize if my teasing offended you.”
She didn’t have time to respond. The woman pulled on her arm, and Jack dropped into the vacant seat. Her gaze flitted to the faces around the table. “Uh, thanks.” She perched on the edge of the wooden chair, spine erect as she stirred a thin straw through her tea.
“I’m Anita Carrington, and this is my husband, George.” The man beside her reached out his hand, and Jack shook it with a shaky smile. “This is our youngest, Amber.” The pretty teenager wiggled her fingers in a wave.
The next in line took the bad-boy persona to a whole other level, with his long blond hair and bulging biceps under a black V-neck shirt, a matching leather jacket hanging from the back of his chair. She noticed the ink on his forearm as he stretched out his hand to shake hers.
“I’m Trent, and this is my fiancée, Summer.” He put his arm around the shoulders of the grinning redhead beside him. “And that lout over there is Adam.” He pointed to the incorrigible man from before.
Jack didn’t bother looking at him again. She could see from her peripheral vision that he was still grinning like an imbecile, like the world—or at least the female occupants—should fall at his feet.
No thank you. Not her type. She turned her smile to the rest of the family. “Jack Rogers.”
“So what brings you to Walter Reed, my dear?”
Anita’s voice had Jack swinging her head around.
Jack rubbed her thumb along the outside of her cup. “Actually, I’m just waiting for my brother while he visits a friend.” She looked around the table. This was one of those times she wished she had a better grasp on social graces. Should she return the question and ask them whom they were here for, or was that too personal? If she didn’t ask, would it appear she was uncaring?
“A-are you visiting someone?”
Expressions fell around her, and she wanted to kick herself for reminding them of something painful. She should have chosen awkward silence and kept her mouth shut.
George clasped Anita’s hand on top of the table. “Our son was injured on an aircraft carrier.”
Jack blinked. “I’m so sorry.”
“We’re just glad he’s still with us, you know?” Anita’s smile wobbled, and her eyes gleamed from a sheen of tears.
Jack pulled a few napkins from the dispenser on the table and handed them to Anita. Her heart ached for the grieving mother.
Selfish as it sounded, her thoughts turned to her own brothers. Good thing Eli and Brett knew better than to ever get hurt or die, because if they did, she’d dig them back up and kill them herself.
Chapter Four
Present Day, Maryland
Michael squeezed his eyes as pain seared a hot path through his thigh. His jaw clenched against the low groans rumbling in his throat, while sweat beaded across his forehead. A week ago, he could’ve leg pressed close to five hundred pounds and would have welcomed a soothing massage after a strenuous workout. Now he strained at the paltry exercises Lieutenant Commander Orville put him through. And the man’s fingers working at the end of what used to be his right leg felt like they’d been heated by a branding iron before pressed into his muscles. Only a few more minutes of torture before the therapist would rewrap his stump, preparing and shaping the residual limb for a prosthetic. Thankfully, they’d already gone through the routine with his arm. He wasn’t sure how much more he could endure.
“You’re doing great, Lieutenant.”
Michael let his eyes unclench when Orville removed his hands from his thigh. “Thanks. It doesn’t feel that way to me, but I’m glad to hear you think so.”
“Ready to rewrap?” The lieutenant commander held the beige rolls of bandages.
Lifting his core weight off the cot mattress, Michael’s bicep bulged and shook as he balanced on his one remaining elbow. Orville wrapped the material around Michael’s waist and down his thigh to the end of his stump above where his knee used to be, crisscrossing the bandage and repeating the process un
til Michael’s residual limb looked like it had been covered in one of his kid sister’s braids. Or pigtails, since his left arm held a distinct resemblance.
“You’re remembering to do your stretches even when I’m not here?” Orville finished off the bandage.
“And extra exercises. I don’t want to be in this bed longer than I have to.” Four days was four days too long.
“Looks like you could be getting out of here real soon. I’m impressed by your improvement. Your incision looks great, and you’re getting stronger every day.”
If physical strength was what it took, he’d live at the gym until he got his life back. Or whatever life he had left. “So I get to go home?”
“Soon. But that doesn’t mean therapy ends here. Your arm and leg are going to continue to heal, and the reshaping of the tissue can take around nine months. You’ll need to continue your stretches, exercises, and refitting for your prosthetic. More time in the physical therapy gym. More time with a therapist. More massages. More—”
Michael held up his hand. “I get it, but I can come in for sessions, not take up a cot at the hospital.”
The lieutenant commander smiled. “Yes. In fact, I think the doctor may even discharge you later today or tomorrow.” His lips flattened, and he looked Michael in the eye. “But you have to take it easy, flyboy. No heroics. Your body needs time to heal.”
Michael held up three fingers. “Scouts honor.”
“In my experience, the only people who do that are those who’ve never been a Scout.”
“Guilty.” Although he was sure his grin made him look anything but.
“I know you hate it, but that includes using the wheelchair.”
“But—”
The lieutenant commander held up his palm. “Hospital rules and doctor’s orders. Not to mention, it’s for your own good.” He lowered his head and shook it while muttering under his breath, “I can’t believe I have to say this.” Looking back at Michael, he said, “Look. I know all of this is hard and that you want to walk again as soon as possible, but if you try before your leg is physically ready, you could fall and do serious and permanent damage to both your leg and your arm.”