by Sarah Monzon
Michael’s gaze bounced to her, then the family photos on the mantel. To her, then the books lining the bookcase. To her, then the seascape painting hanging on the wall behind the sofa. He cleared his throat and brought his drink to his lips.
“My brother is getting married this weekend.” He spoke to the painting behind her. “I need you to come with me to the wedding.”
One thing she’d learned throughout the months he’d inserted himself in her life—he chose his words carefully. “You need me to go?”
He looked at her for a moment, but that second was all she needed to see the anguish pinching at the corners of his sea-blue eyes. “Yes.”
She would have preferred a want or a would like or even a love, as in, Jackie, I would love for you to accompany me to my brother’s wedding. But need? Sounded as if he were forced against his will to have her go with him. Who knew, maybe that was how he really felt. “Why?”
Their eyes met. “Eli leaves tomorrow, and your dad has a cross-country route starting Friday.”
So he’d looked into all the options that would get him out of what he saw as a duty. She swallowed the hurt, trying to remind herself of all the things he was coping with right now. Didn’t do much to lessen the sting.
“No.”
His head reeled back as if she’d slapped him. “What do you mean no?”
“Just that.” She gripped the soda can until the aluminum made a crinkly sound. “I refuse to be anyone’s obligation. Especially yours.”
“Jackie…” His forehead crumbled under the weight of distress. “Please…”
He was asking so much more now. That please wasn’t the magic word to his request at her presence at the wedding. What was he asking? That she understand? She did. Sort of. That she let it go? Letting it go meant letting him go, and she found she couldn’t do that. Wouldn’t do that. Not like this.
His lips drew a thin line, and his hand balled into a fist on the recliner’s armrest. Every muscle in his body seemed to strain, as if he was fighting something unseen in the room. Why was he putting himself through so much torture?
Her heart ached for him. Not in an unrequited-love type of way, but in a way that wanted him to be completely healed. He could walk again, but in so many ways he was paralyzed. Her stomach churned as she set the sweating can on the coffee table and stood. Her mind screamed at her to sit back down, to guard herself. He’d already rejected her. If she put herself out there, he had the power to shatter her. But this was so much more than that. And if he shattered her, she’d pick up the pieces and put them back together. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the miserable man in her brother’s favorite chair.
She found his eyes and held his gaze as she walked toward him. They grew, as she imagined a deer’s did in hunting season. With deliberate slowness, she lowered herself onto his lap, her eyes never leaving his.
“What are you doing?” His voice came out raw as he held his body as far away from hers as he could. Pretty impossible since she draped herself over him.
She moved her hand up his arm and over his shoulder until her fingertips grazed the hair at the nape of his neck. “I could ask you the same question.”
He winced, and her fingers stilled. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”
His eyes squeezed shut, a low moan rumbling in his chest. “No. Yes. Not like you think.” He reached up and grabbed her hand, removing it from the back of his neck. “Jackie…please…” His voice cracked as he tried to push her off his lap.
“No.” She anchored her hands on his shoulders, refusing to be displaced. “You do not get to choose for me.”
His head turned away. “I only want what’s best for you.”
She gripped his chin and brought his face in front of hers. She stared into his eyes. “I know what’s best for me. You.”
Color the shade of a Macintosh apple mottled his cheeks. He raised his right arm until the stump was under her nose. “This is not what you deserve.”
For the first time, she looked at the scar that ran along the underside of his upper arm. The skin puckered where it had been sewn together, but the injury didn’t cause her to recoil the way she’d noticed some people did. Really, it was beautiful. Miraculous. A part of Michael, his story and his journey. Her heart swelled as she looked at the surgeon’s path. She gently took his arm, looking over the incision and then into his eyes. Slowly she touched her lips to the warm area where skin met skin. He inhaled sharply, but she continued to lay a trail of kisses where the knife had cut.
“You’re killing me.” The words came out torturous, breathy.
A surge of something swirled around in her middle at his admission. No matter how much he’d tried to define their relationship as just friends, he wasn’t unaffected by her. She grinned and settled more fully into his lap, wrapped her arms around his torso, and laid her head in the crook of his shoulder. A sigh escaped her lips when he wrapped his arm around her and let his hand rest on her hip.
His nose nuzzled her hair, and his words were muffled as he said, “This is a bad idea.”
Didn’t feel like a bad idea to her. In fact, it was the most right she’d ever experienced. “Stop strategizing and analyzing. Let your heart take its first steps.” She lifted her face to look at him. “To me.”
His hand fell away, and she felt him retreating again. He shook his head. “I have nothing to offer you. No profession, no prospects. I can’t provide for you, and I haven’t done a great job of protecting you either.”
“First off, it isn’t 1856, so drop the providing and protecting bit. I’ve been doing both for years now. Second, there is so much more you do have to offer. Your goodness and sincerity, strength of character and perseverance. The way you overcome obstacles with faith, grace, and positivity. Your selflessness. Loyalty. Honor.” She elbowed his stomach with a smile. “I could do this all day.”
He shifted his weight until her bottom landed on the chair, then stood. Stiff fingers shoved through his hair as he took a step back. “I…” He paced three steps before turning. “I have to go. I’ll e-mail you the plane ticket.” With that he strode out the door without a backward glance.
***
From: Jack Rogers
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: 1940s WW II plane in need of restoration
Something important has come up that I need to do, so my arrival will be delayed. I’ll pay for the change in the airfare and let you know when I’m heading out. I’m so sorry for this. Please know I wouldn’t be changing arrangements if it wasn’t important.
Jack
Chapter Twenty-Six
England, 1944
Alice tilted the cup to her lips, the warmth and bitter tea shocking her sleepy body into wakefulness once more. Everything had to be perfect. Too many people counted on her, even if they didn’t know it. If she failed…
She gave a vigorous shake of her head. Failure was not an option. At all cost, she must succeed. For Aunt Sybil. For Henry. For all the people in the Germans’ path. For the hope of millions.
For herself.
Six hours she’d pored over the information she’d been able to confiscate. Her pulse raced as she remembered almost getting caught in the general’s office. She’d snuck in with a small flashlight after dark, her hairpins making quick work of the door’s lock. About ten minutes after she’d broken in, a cheery whistle had echoed off the abandoned walls. Turned out to be a cleaning lady. Alice had hunched under the general’s desk for nearly an hour before it had been safe to emerge—and exit with an armload of maps and papers.
If only her plan didn’t have so many holes in it. Alice needed a bomber she could fly. That automatically ruled out a number of planes. Most bombers were monster aircrafts that required crews of nearly a dozen. Not to mention the four engines that powered them. Impossible for her alone. Which left only a handful of options, none of them easy. She pointed to the third on her list. An A-35 Vengeance. A single-engine d
ive bomber. Perfect. She could dive at the mountainside to ensure the trajectory of the bomb and the explosion that would fill the valley, effectively closing off any route the panzers could take.
And what made the Vengeance better than another dive bomber? Alice knew right where a fleet of them were. Among the papers she’d taken were the orders for a squadron to take five of the planes to waiting RAF pilots six hundred miles away. Did they need all five of them? Probably. But her need outweighed theirs. Besides, she was only taking one.
She rubbed at her dry, itchy eyes and glanced at the clock hanging on the far wall. One in the morning. Only three more hours until she put her plan into action.
***
Alice shot up in bed in a panic as she looked around, eyes adjusting to the darkness. Her gaze snagged on the window and held. Pitch black. The cogs of her fuzzy brain initiated as she took a breath of relief.
The sun hadn’t risen yet. She wasn’t too late.
Throwing back the covers, she stood and slipped on a pair of black trousers, shoved her arms through a black knit sweater, praying her golden hair wouldn’t be a beacon in the predawn shadows.
Be with me, dear Lord. There wasn’t time for homilies or recitations. For hours of prostrate beseeching. The time was now, and she held to faith that God would look kindly upon this endeavor.
She tiptoed over to the rolltop desk and retrieved the letter she’d transcribed the night before. It had started out as a short note to let Rose know where she was but had turned into a series of letters for her loved ones, should something happen to her. The paper crinkled in her hand as she neared Rose’s sleeping form.
The petite woman’s chest rose and fell in rhythmic waves of slumber. Alice watched her for a moment before slipping the papers onto Rose’s bedside table. Her gut clenched at the possibilities before her, the relative safety she was leaving behind. But what other course was there? She couldn’t crawl back under the soft linen sheets and pretend nothing had happened. Pivoting on the ball of her foot, she turned and carefully opened the door. The hinge squeaked, and she winced at the sound, stopping and standing still, listening to any sounds of wakefulness coming from Rose’s bed. Nothing but a soft snore. She opened the door a fraction more, then slipped through the narrow opening, closing it behind her with a light click.
Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and then plunged into the darkness of the stairwell and out into the night. The sky still held to blackness, not loosening its grip to allow the ombré of blues dawn offered around the periphery. No man-made light brightened her path as she walked to where Rose kept the car parked. Instead, a thousand pinpricks, the night’s personal cache of diamonds, shimmered above. The earth proclaiming the goodness and beauty of its creator, as if they shone in defiance of the ugly rebellion of its inhabitants.
The car’s silhouette formed in the distance, and Alice jogged the remainder of the way. She pulled out the keys she’d palmed from Rose’s possessions and started the engine. Slowly she pulled out onto the empty street, headlights off. She needed to get to the fleet of Vengeances fast but undetected.
When she arrived at the narrow drive that led to the hangars, she pulled the car over and killed the engine. She’d proceed on foot from here. She kept to the shadows provided by the trees lining the drive until she came to the airstrip. On the other side, planes were parked in perfect rows. She scanned the area, her gaze halting on the nose propeller of the single-engine planes. One, two, three, four, five. Bingo.
Crouching down to half her size, she hurried across the long expanse of open land, hoping no one would spot her. When she reached the plane, she leaned against the cool metal and caught her breath, her heart ricocheting off her ribs. Dawn fast approached, black turning to gray, a thin line of gold ringing the horizon. Her time was running out, and if she didn’t get this bird into the air soon, her wings might get clipped before she even had a chance to fly.
Dew coated the wings, and her foot slipped as she scrambled up, landing hard on her knee. She sucked in a breath through her teeth but held in her cry of pain. Finding a handhold, she planted her foot and simultaneously pushed off with her legs while pulling herself up with her upper body. By the time she lowered herself into the pilot’s seat, her muscles shook.
Here we go.
She flipped the switches, the plane rumbling to life. Air whooshed through the propeller as it began to spin at full speed. No doubt the noise had alerted someone, but it was too late.
Alice wouldn’t be stopped.
She taxied the plane to the runway, then let the speed mount. At the end of the strip, she pulled back on the yoke, and the Vengeance eased into the air. A grin split her face, and she let out a whoop. She’d done it. Well, the first part anyway. Sobering, she turned her focus back to the instruments in front of her. For the most part they seemed nonthreatening. She was familiar with other single-engine planes and had studied the designs and schematics of this particular model the night before. In theory, she knew exactly was she needed to do. If everything went perfectly…
The landscape turned from farmland to ocean as she flew over the channel. Her palms grew sweaty as she gripped the yoke like a vise. Doubts crowded her mind, visions of things that could go wrong. Being shot down again. Dying in an explosion. Being captured by the enemy. Her daddy’s voice over the images telling her where a woman’s place was and how disappointed he was in her and who she’d become. Tension bunched in her shoulders until she felt like a twig ready to snap.
She straightened her spine, firming her jaw. Every battle began in the mind. She’d heard that somewhere. For every imaginable fear that could happen to her, she thought of someone who would be harmed if she did nothing.
Henry, with his impossibly blue eyes that rivaled a cloudless day. His curling hair and impish grin. The way he gazed down at her with a softness around his eyes, a look of wonder in their depths. Her heart pinged at the thought of him. At the thought of a possibility of a future with him. That couldn’t happen if he died on the front lines.
Aunt Sybil, with her contagious smile that welcomed all in openness and friendship. Her fearlessness and courage. Her belief in the goodness of mankind and the equality of all. The only relative who truly believed in Alice, understood her need for more than what her father had planned.
Iron filled her veins and flowed through her body until every limb went rigid with determination. She would not let the Nazis win. Not when she could stop them.
The French Alps loomed in the distance. Alice narrowed her eyes and readjusted her grip on the yoke. She’d fly through the valley and scout the ravine, then turn and pick her target along the mountainside. On the second loop around she’d dive and drop the bomb.
There! The spot the man in the general’s office had indicated was directly below her. She flew a few more kilometers, then banked hard left. She scanned the side of the mountain and spotted a rocky outcropping about a hundred yards from the ground. If the bomb dropped just right, all those rocks and more would tumble down the mountainside. The obstruction would be too tall and wide for even German panzers to blow through.
Banking again and coming back around, her eye on the rocky crag as she pushed the plane into a nosedive. Ready…and…now! She punched the release, and the bomb dropped with a spine-tingling whistle.
The air reverberated with the explosion at the same second the left wing of the Vengeance clipped the mountainside.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Present Day, Maryland
Coward. No one had ever dared call him such before. No one had ever had reason to. Until now. He slammed his open palm against the steering wheel. What had gone wrong? He’d gone to Eli’s tonight with a plan, a way to keep Jackie safe from Mitch and her heart unscathed from him. Talk about it blowing up in his face.
The LED sign for his gym lit up the night sky, and he whipped his truck into the gym’s parking lot and jammed the gear into park. His body hummed. Pushing it to exhaustion would be the only wa
y he’d be able to get any sleep tonight. He swiped his card in the after-hours scanner and opened the door when he heard the lock click. The place was vacant save for a couple of women, one on a treadmill—she looked like a marathon runner—and another on an elliptical machine. Good. He had all the free weights to himself.
Taking position on the bench, he selected a forty-pound dumbbell to curl with his left arm. The weight felt good in his hand as he began his first set of ten reps.
What had gone wrong? Couldn’t Jackie see that the best thing would be for her to go with him to Trent’s wedding? Yet logic had been blocked with a solid no. It was as if she’d rather take her chances with Mitch than him.
After three sets, he let the dumbbell fall to the floor. Wasn’t doing its job of clearing his mind, and his body still seemed to be wound tight. He adjusted the weights to the leg press and planted his feet. Should probably unstrap his prosthetic and just use his left leg, but he deserved the punishment. With a grunt, he pushed, focusing on the pain. Relishing it, even. This he understood. Could ignore. Make his body submit to his will. The anguish and despair that had heated his veins and caused his gut to churn every time he looked into Jackie’s golden eyes? Torture. Felt like he needed to recite his name, rank, and serial number to her and nothing else.
And when she’d touched him? When her warm body pressed against his chest, her fingers tangled in the short hairs at the back of his head? He’d cracked like Humpty Dumpty. A moment of weakness, he’d given in. Held her for a second before his mind caught up.
He slammed the press with all the force his quads could muster. This wasn’t working. Not the gym, not this thing with Jackie. Not his life.
Just a little longer. He only had to maintain the status quo a little longer. He’d turned over all the evidence against Mitch to a master at arms, who’d indicated that NCIS would be opening an investigation against the claims. If that resolved quickly—and he hoped an arrest would be made while he and Jackie were in Florida—then Jackie would have no further need of him.