Borrowed Time

by Miller, Maureen A.

  Emily flipped her palm up and entwined her fingers with his. Chaos reigned inside her head with desperation over her brother’s safety and worries over their fate. But here, in this isolated car, one of many plowing through channels of slush on I-95, she clutched onto Brian’s hand and sincerely believed all would be alright as long as she never lost this connection. Still holding his hand she looked at the car to her right where a woman gesticulated, either on a speaker phone or singing along with the radio. Ahead of them, a Mayflower moving van threw up a dirty mist on their windshield that Brian tried to counteract with the wipers.

  Did anyone else on this highway feel the maelstrom of emotions that she did?

  The alarming invasion of the cell phone jarred her.

  Brian released her to grab the phone out of his pocket. He glared at the flashing monitor and snapped the receiver to his ear.

  “What?” Brian barked after identifying the caller ID.

  “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  “Nothing about you piques my curiosity, George.” In his periphery he saw Emily swing anxious eyes his way.

  Barcuda drew a deep breath, and a fine nasal whistle shrilled through the connection. “Of course, but I’m sure you’re wondering if your coworker made it home safely.”

  Brian nearly lost control of the car as his hand clutched into a fist around the steering wheel. His foot reached to tap the brake and bring it under control. “If anything has happened to him—”

  “Tsk-tsk-tsk” Barcuda fell into silence, purposely goading Brian. “You know, Morrison.” He continued, “you were the best, perhaps too good to be true. I wanted someone who was going to be discreet, but protect my company with the shrewd resources that you’ve exhibited in the past. I have connections—well, hell, you know that. I know about your time in Somalia. I know about most of your exploits, and I wanted you.”

  Brian’s thoughts turned black.

  “And when I want something,” Barcuda continued, but let the rest of the statement slide.

  “You got to Kolchek.”

  “I’ve had several occasions to rely on Naval intelligence. Kolchek owed me a favor. He paid it in you.”

  Damn. Herman Kolchek was someone Brian had revered. A veteran and a father figure when Brian’s own father had passed away in the early stages of the Gulf War. Herman was readying for retirement, having fallen short of that Admiral status that Brian’s father achieved so swiftly. There wasn’t a corrupt bone in Herman Kolchek’s stout body. He was a loyal friend to Walter Morrison, and that loyalty was extended to his teenage son upon his death. Herman Kolchek was the strongest influence in Brian’s move from fieldwork to a civilian desk job. When Brian returned from Somalia, Herman pointed out that the next mission he would likely not return, and with no family left, Brian’s mother having passed away while he was just a tyke, Herman pointed out that there would be no one to miss him. He needed to change his life, drastically.

  Barcuda was esteemed enough to seem credible when extracting information from Herman. Brian could not blame his mentor, but he could seethe with resentment towards NMD’s corrupt controller.

  “Cut to the chase, Barcuda. Where is Phil?”

  Across the connection, Tony Bennett’s melancholy voice crooned hollowly. “I would imagine,” Barcuda turned down the volume, “that he’s in the ICU at East Haven Medical Center.”

  “You son of a bitch,” Brian roared. “What did you do to him?”

  “It’s not my fault Pulkowski was so busy looking for bugs that he forgot to check the brakes. It’s not my fault,” Barcuda’s voice dulled into a sinister threat, “that you involved him. All you had to do was bring me the engineer and the drawings. You screwed up. No wonder the Navy didn’t want you.”

  It was hard to concentrate on the congested highway when red starbursts of rage pulsed behind his eyes. With blood pressure this high, it felt as if the stitches on his forehead were about to burst. Vaguely he was aware that Emily shifted towards him with concern, but his sudden flinch stopped her dead.

  “Are you in your office, George?”

  The quiet edge to Brian’s tone made the breath on the other end of the phone hesitate. Barcuda cleared his throat. “Of course I am. I’m sitting here waiting for you to bring Emily Brennan and her brother’s drawings back to me.”

  Emily. Brian swept a glance at his passenger. Her lips were parted on a question but they thinned with fear at the expression on his face. Emily was the reason he was here. She was the reason Phil was in danger.

  If the accident had never happened that icy night—if Brian had simply caught up with her after witnessing her crime on the monitor, would they be in this position right now? Would he feel the same gut-wrenching attraction he felt towards the angel that saved him from the encroaching darkness? Would he feel the same intensity that had him prolonging her stare, despite the cars that sped by them on the congested interstate.

  When it came to Emily, his emotions were in a state of turmoil. A cyclone of passion, indecision, and dare he say, something possibly more significant? One thing was for certain—he would never turn her over to George Barcuda.

  Never.

  “I’m coming for you, George.”

  Through the phone, the squeal of a tilt-back chair clicked into place. “Don’t show up alone, Morrison. If you do, Pulkowski’s right under our nose now. His injuries can turn life-threatening if you don’t bring me what I want.”

  Brian’s fists nearly wrenched the steering wheel from its shaft. He fought not to growl. “The brother, do you have him too?”

  A whirlwind of motion by his side had Brian clamping his hand on Emily’s arm to keep her steady.

  “Interesting,” Barcuda snickered. “I thought you had him. No trouble though. You bring me Emily, and I’m sure he’ll be close on her tail.”

  Beneath his hand, Brian felt Emily trembling, but an angry horn let him know that he couldn’t risk taking his eyes off the road again.

  “You said that you knew about Somalia,” Brian spoke evenly.

  “Yes,” A hint of interest weaved over the phone. “You were erased from the books that day. In the eyes of the government, Brian Morrison died two years ago. Needless to say, I was intrigued.” The squeak of a hinge. “A man with secrets can be controlled.”

  Like hell. “A dead man has no fear of dying.” Brian declared.

  He dropped the cell on the seat, and reached for the painful twinge above his eye.

  “Brian?”

  The despondent appeal invaded his dark thoughts—thoughts of tossing aside an exemplary career in favor of bringing George Barcuda to justice. The most troubling thoughts though were of self-condemnation for ever having let Pulkowski get in that Blazer.

  “Brian,” Emily repeated.

  He was suddenly aware that she had stopped trembling beneath his touch and had instead gone perfectly still. He risked a sideward glimpse and expelled an oath at the dark glare of fear in her eyes.

  “Yeah,” His tone was harsher than planned, and to soften it he tried to reach for her. Emily snapped her hand back a second before he touched it.

  A sense of dread tore at him, because he knew by the stanch look she gave him that her newfound trust had just been shot to hell. A dead man has no fear of dying. But he did fear that look of mistrust.

  “Colin?” Her voice cracked.

  “No, they don’t have him.”

  Almost imperceptibly her slim shoulders relaxed. “Phil?” She continued anxiously.

  Breathe, Morrison, just breathe. You aren’t going to help Pulkowski or the young engineer—or Emily for that fact, if you go off all half-cocked.

  “An accident. The brakes.” It started, and he had no way to stop it. A moan of fury and anguish scaled up his throat and rushed out in a fierce roar as he smacked the steering wheel and thrived off the resultant pain.

  “Dammit, Philip.” Brian yelled at a mental image of Philip watching a football game with his Penn State beer mug affixed to
his lips. “Why didn’t you check the brakes?”

  Emily regarded him warily. Her hand wavered in the air and then after a brief hesitation, finally settled on his arm.

  Brian stared at that connection and felt the red cloud of fury vaporize.

  “He’s okay?”

  He gave her a perfunctory nod. “Yes.” For now.

  She let loose a withheld breath and then prompted, “Somalia?”

  The tone of her voice was soft, but in that innocent word she packed one hell of a statement. I know nothing about you. Who and what are you? Am I safe with you?

  “Emily,” It was incredible, but he really wanted to share it with her. All of it. But not now. Not here. “You don’t know much about me. Very few do. And I’m scared to admit that I would like to share it all with you. But for now—”

  The fingers on his arm withdrew, and he already missed their warmth. That motion should have been an indication, but he doggedly watched her face, hoping for a sign of faith.

  “Pull over.”

  “What?” He almost thought he didn’t hear her correctly.

  “I said pull over.”

  “What do you mean, pull over?” Was she going to run? “We’ve only got an hour to go.”

  “Brian,” She sounded so composed. “You’re exhausted. And you’re distraught. Neither of us got any sleep.” She gave him a tentative smile, and Brian was reminded of the same smile that celestial being that looked down on him with compassion in the middle of the night.

  “Pull over and let me drive for awhile.” Emily continued, raising her hand to halt his outburst.

  “I know what it is like,” she commiserated, “you are worried about your friend and that concern is only going to manifest itself into anger. Trust me,” She shook her head, “that’s not going to solve this. Only our collective minds are going to settle this.”

  And just like that, though apprehension and fury over Phil’s fate raged inside his head—a genuine grin rose to Brian’s lips.

  “Is that so?” He goaded.

  Emily Brennan was a remarkable woman. Perhaps he knew that already. But at this moment, with the sun reflecting off the Sound, through the window to highlight her hair in ethereal shades of gold, Brian realized that he had underestimated his angel.

  Her body was sleek and feminine in frayed jeans and a sweatshirt. The aesthetic aspects of Emily were undeniable, but her power came from her intelligence. She was a strong woman, and that energy drew him like a dehydrated man to a well.

  “You’re as run down as I am, Em. If not more.”

  “I’m not recovering from a car accident.” She crossed her arms. “Brian, please, I need you. I’m not going to deny for a minute that I’m intimidated by the things I don’t know about you.” Her glance flicked down to her lap, and then dragged back up. “But I can’t do this alone. I snuck in there once before. Apparently I blew it. This time around, I’ll have you by my side, and I want you rested.”

  A mile-marker indicated that the next exit was a mile away. Brian maneuvered the Impala into the right lane. That admission of need and vulnerability tugged at him.

  “Alright, I’m going to say this now so that we don’t argue about it later when we get to NMD. You’re not going inside, Emily.”

  Ah hell, there was that resplendent burst of conviction in her eyes. He knew what was coming and turned the blinker on to take the next exit.

  To his shock, the flames abated.

  Maybe that worried him even more.

  “We’ll see.”

  “Emily,” He warned.

  “Look, pull into that truck stop.” She fished in her purse for the cell phone, scanning the monitor to see if by some absurd chance she missed Colin’s call.

  Brian remained stoic behind the steering wheel, his fists wrapped around the nicked vinyl, his arms locked in inflexible lines.

  “Out.” Emily commanded, already launching through the passenger door.

  Exasperated, he streamed out of the car and studied her over the roof. “I don’t think your brother manipulated you at all.”

  Emily’s progress around the hood came to a halt. She snapped her eyes up and leveled a hand out against the warm metal to heat up her cold palms.

  “Excuse me?”

  His arm slipped off the roof, and Brian approached her. “You heard me.”

  Standing before her, he stopped and raised a hand to secure an errant strand of hair that lashed Emily’s cheek. “I don’t believe anyone can manipulate you, Em.”

  And with that he brought his mouth down on hers for a gentle kiss. She responded immediately which made him feel like the most virile man in the world.

  “Okay,” he whispered, “you drive.”

  Taillights glowed on the Interstate. Beyond them, the eastern skyline dimmed into murky shades found on a descent into the fathomless ocean trenches. The rearview mirror revealed a pale rose line hugging the horizon, struggling to hang on, but would soon be snubbed by nightfall. At her side, Brian slept with his dark hair matted against the headrest. Restless in slumber, his latest shift sprawled his arm against her thigh, where long fingers draped warmly.

  She smiled as she reached over to brush a bang from the wound on his forehead. It was healing, but the man needed rest. No ordinary individual would be up and about as swiftly as Brian Morrison was thrust into action, but he was by no means, ordinary.

  So many questions volleyed for answers inside her head, like a bunch of demanding students with their hands raised. There was much more to Brian than she had been made privy, but how could she demand knowledge? This was not a man that needed to answer to her…and who was she to interogate? She was nothing more than a criminal he was supposed to apprehend, and yet he had not apprehended her. Instead, he abetted her, and threatened the safety of his friend in the process.

  Brian might have tried to mask it, but Emily saw the raw pain when he learned of Phil’s accident. She prayed with every ounce of religion she had left in her that Philip would be okay. If not, she could never live with herself.

  Her hand returned to the steering wheel, but after a brief assessment of the quiet black highway, her gaze returned to his face.

  In repose, the line of Brian’s jaw was tense, as if he ground his teeth during sleep. The forehead she had just brushed her fingertip across slackened some of its wrinkles. He had a rugged look, with a nose that might seem large on someone else, but fit him proportionally, and lips that were full and enticed her with memories of their texture against her own. Maybe to others he was not so handsome. Maybe his look was harsh enough to be considered intimidating. But when she looked at Brian Morrison strange things happened to her stomach.

  Why had he kissed her?

  “Take a picture, Em.” He murmured hoarsely.

  Emily jolted. “I, uh, you’re eyes are closed, how did you know I was looking at you?”

  With her gaze fixed on the highway now, she heard the rustle of him shifting upright. Gone was that warm presence on her thigh and she desperately missed the contact.

  “I felt you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Thanks,” he added. “I needed that. I just wish you would rest too.”

  “Adrenaline.” She tried for a flippant tone, and with a twitch of her neck, ground her hands tighter around the steering wheel. “We’re almost there.”

  “I see that. You made good time.”

  When he fell quiet, Emily thought he might have nodded off again, but that husky voice resumed.

  “You’re adrenaline will not hold out much longer.”

  “It has too.” She whispered.

  Emily felt Brian’s hand on her shoulder, then winding under her hair, the strong fingers gently wrapping around the back of her neck, where they worked the sore muscles. The effect was so pleasant her eyelids dropped shut. With a snap, she hauled them open, hoping that the Impala hadn’t veered out of its lane.

  “I’m fine.” She added in that shrill voice that grated even her.

&
nbsp; Brian only chuckled quietly from the passenger seat. “You know what’s going to happen?”

  “No, what?”

  “We will get through all of this, and we will find your brother, and we will turn Barcuda over to the authorities, and then—” He paused.

  Emily turned, needing to know what his next words would be.

  “Then,” he said, “when we’re finally alone, I’m going to be too tired to do all the things I want to do to you.”

  The laugh that bubbled out of her lips was so spontaneous she couldn’t stifle it.

  “Those are the breaks, Mr. Morrison.” As mirthful as her tone was, the effect of his words made her hands tremble.

  Beneath the Impala, the tires lumbered a different cadence. They were crossing the Gold Star Memorial Bridge over the Thames River, where Emily could the lights of the New London Naval Base a short distance away.

  The laughter died. Beside her, Brian was rubbing at an ache in his chest that must have been incurred as he slept leaning against her. Solemnly he followed her earnest gaze.

  “Don’t take this turn off, take the next and circle back.”

  She nodded, but her mind was roiling with anxiety as she willed herself to form a strategy. Brian was going to try and keep her away, and Emily knew there was no way in hell she was going to sit in the parking lot while the two men she—

  She hiccupped.

  “Em, are you okay?”

  Whoa, no she wasn’t okay. She was scared to death. “Yes.”

  “Just remember, if Barcuda knew where your brother was, he wouldn’t be so interested in us.” Brian shot her another earnest look, but she avoided his eyes.

  “Colin is safe.” He asserted.

  Brian was trying to put her at ease. And on some inherent level, she appreciated that, but right now she wanted to avoid him altogether, lest she do something irrational and toss out a wild declaration of love. He would probably give her a sympathetic once-over, and remind her that her feelings stemmed only from panic. Perhaps he would be right. But she didn’t want to chance a look in his eyes right now and be proven wrong.