In Love and War

by Tara Mills

  He smiled, happy she had plenty to talk about because he sure as hell didn’t want to discuss his day yet.

  Handing her the parmesan, he grabbed his fork off the counter. “I bought a bottle of red. Can I pour you a glass?” he asked.

  “Yes, please. But I need a big glass of water too. I’m dehydrated.”

  She got her own glass and drank it while standing at the sink. He dealt with the wine.

  Finally ready to eat, he prodded her over to the table with the stem of her glass. “Come on.” He set her wine by her plate as she sat down and took his own chair.

  Her brows slightly pinched, she studied him. “You’re uncharacteristically broody today. Anything wrong?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it right now. I just got to a point where I can finally relax and forget everything.”

  Her frown deepened. After a silent beat, she nodded. “Okay. I won’t push.”

  Dylan felt a fresh wave of guilt when he imagined the love in her eyes turning to pain. No, he wasn’t ready to see that, cause that. He had to, but he could stall a little longer. He needed this. He needed her smiles while they were still his. They’d be gone soon enough.

  “Hey, do we have any plans this weekend? Any more shopping on your schedule?” he asked, twirling pasta onto his fork.

  “Nope, nothing. Why?”

  “No reason. I’d just rather have you all to myself, that’s all.”

  “Mmm, that sounds pretty good to me too.”

  There was so much love in her eyes when she looked at him he had difficulty swallowing without a wine chaser.

  “Tell me, did you try on any dresses while you were out?” he teased, trying hard to lighten his mood.

  Ariela laughed. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  Her secret beat the hell out of his.

  ***

  They walked Max around the neighborhood that evening and retired early. Saturday was far more difficult. As the day progressed, Ariela could no longer ignore the dark cloud hanging over Dylan. She’d played along, hoping it would clear, but it never did. He was remote, distant, even when they held each other, loved each other. He was keeping something from her—again.

  Trying to pretend everything was fine was draining her now too.

  When Dylan’s phone rang, he took it into the bedroom, leaving her waiting in front of the Scrabble board. The second time the telephone rang, he disappeared outside. Uneasy, Ariela shifted, trying to hear what he was discussing with the mystery caller. It was no use. When the third call came, Ariela hooked her finger through his belt loop and held on, giving him a look he couldn’t ignore. She wanted an explanation.

  He sighed and turned his attention to the phone against his ear. “Hello, yes I’m here. Let me bring it up on my computer.”

  He took Ariela’s hand, and with a serious nod, slid her finger clear so he could go over to the desk. He didn’t bother with his chair, just faced the screen and typed. Ariela looked over his shoulder and saw he was on a travel site.

  “Here we go. I’m booked on flight seven-sixty-two, ETA ten-fifty a.m. your time. I can put us both on flight nine-oh-eight from there…You did? …Okay, I’ll just worry about my own ticket…Sure. We’ll talk more on Monday…Yes. I’ll look for you. Good-bye.”

  While the printer spit out Dylan’s travel information, he turned back to Ariela. Desperation and sadness shot at her from his beautiful blue eyes.

  “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to?” she said carefully.

  He clutched the back of his head. “I’d rather not.”

  Ariela wasn’t amused. “Where are you going?”

  Dylan glanced at the computer and moved to block it before she could read the screen. Then he sighed and gave up. “You’re not going to like it.”

  “I figured.” She knew already. Somehow, she just knew, even before he turned back with the paper in his hand and gave it to her. She looked down and her blood boiled “You told me that was it!”

  “I thought it was,” he said softly.

  “You ass. You stupid ass!” she repeated, beating his chest with both fists as the paper floated to the floor. “You nearly died over there!” Her voice actually broke when she said that.

  “Ariela, stop.” He caught her wrists before she could hit him again then held them so she couldn’t pull away.

  Her next word came out in a tortured whisper. “Why?”

  “Come here.” He started to pull her in, hold her, but she broke free and walked off with her arms crossed defensively over her chest.

  When she spun back around she was livid, terrified, and heartbroken, all at the same time. He looked lost, lonely, and helpless.

  “Just tell me why you’d do this again.” The look in his eyes came damn close to breaking her heart all over again.

  “Because this is who I am, Ariela,” he said simply. “Ali’s father is going back to bring his family, and their books, to safety. With Ali dead, and no one else to look out for them, they’re in even more danger now. He asked for my help.”

  “You couldn’t help him from here?”

  “Not with this. Besides, I owe them. I made his family’s situation even worse by meeting with them directly.” His eyes pleaded with Ariela to listen. “We were targeted, Ariela. They got to Ali’s contact, then Ali, then Jim. Do you think they won’t retaliate against those women next? It’s a wonder they’re still alive. I wouldn’t be, if it weren’t for them.”

  She gave a tremulous laugh. “So you’re just going to barrel in there and whisk them out Rambo-style?”

  “Not exactly.” He paused, then conceded with an uncomfortable shrug, “Well, sort of. We want to be quick, in and out. We’re hoping it’ll take us thirty minutes or less. Plus we’re going in with armed professionals, just in case. We’ll be completely outfitted: vests, helmets, everything.”

  “Will you be armed?”

  “This time—yes.”

  “Oh my god,” she cried, pulling at her hair. She spun around, facing the ceiling for a moment. When she turned back, she glared at him. “Don’t expect me to be here when you get back.”

  His gaze softened on her. “I’m counting on it.”

  Tears glittered in her eyes. “I told you I didn’t think I could handle caring about someone in a dangerous job. I don’t think my life can stand another heroic type.” There was a hitch in her voice. “Not knowing what happened to you once already was too hard, too damn hard on me.”

  He closed the distance between them and embraced her. Ariela cried against his shirt while he rubbed her back, her hair. She couldn’t push him away this time.

  “I can’t pull out now. I won’t. I understand why you’re afraid of me going back, but I can’t let that change my decision.”

  “You’re lucky to be alive. You’ve got the bullet wound to prove it.” She shuddered against him.

  “I’m fit to go, and I have to help them. They helped me.”

  “You don’t. At least, not like this.”

  He shook his head at her. “I do. If it were my grandmother over there, I’d hope someone would do the same for her. I’d do it for yours too.”

  Ariela wouldn’t meet his gaze. She slipped out of his arms and walked over to his big comfy chair, dropping heavily into it. “I don’t want you to die.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want that either.”

  Dylan followed and crouched in front of her, grabbing the arms and caging her where she sat. He needed her to understand.

  “How did we meet, Ariela?” he asked softly.

  His question surprised her. “On the sidewalk.”

  He smiled. “You had an accident, and I helped. Who knew that my good-guy act was going to land us here, waist deep in love so fast? This wouldn’t have happened if I’d been a different person, would it?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Ariela, I can’t change who I am. I came to your aid, they came to mine, and now I’m in a position to help them
in return. If you asked me not to go, and I stayed, you could never see me the same way again. I’d be diminished somehow—weaker. I don’t want to lose your good opinion, but even more important, I don’t want to lose my own self-respect. I have to go, but I’d like you to support me, and be here when I get back.”

  Chapter 21

  They didn’t discuss his Monday departure for the rest of the weekend, not even when Dylan pulled a small case out of his closet and headed to the local gun club for a little target practice. Ariela chose to take Max for a walk by herself rather than think about it.

  When he got home, Dylan was especially affectionate. Odd as it seemed, they’d reversed roles from the day before. Now, she was remote and distant while he wanted nothing more than to penetrate the shell she wore like armor around her.

  To his surprise, it was easier to woo her into the bedroom, than to get a smile out of her. As they tangled together among the sheets, their hands and lips soothed, but their bodies belied their inner turmoil. Each drive of pelvis to pelvis carried with it an edge of desperation. His plunges into her were so forceful, so determined, that when they finally cried out, it was as much from release as emotional exhaustion. They collapsed on their backs and panted for air, reaching out to twine their fingers together. Neither could summon the energy for a simple kiss.

  They woke early Monday morning and Ariela drove him to the airport. Their parting embrace stretched on, neither willing to end it. Finally Dylan drew back and took her face in his hands. His eyes possessed her, drinking in every detail of her beloved face. When she blinked back tears, he sighed and kissed her softly, wrapping her close one last time before releasing her to hoist his bag onto his shoulder. When he moved off to join the crowd, their arms stretched out between them until their fingers lost contact and their hands dropped away. It reminded him of that first time, when she was rolling away, strapped to the gurney, and their fingers pulled apart.

  He hadn’t wanted to let her go then either.

  ***

  Ariela couldn’t handle watching Dylan disappear down the corridor without her so she turned and fled, needing to leave the pain behind, and knowing there was no chance of that. Assuming the best way to cope with disappointment was to immerse herself in something else, she went straight to work. Jean was just coming out of the bathroom looking peaked and shaky when she arrived.

  “We need mouthwash down here,” Jean said before making her unsteady way back to her desk.

  “Maybe you should lie down?”

  “No, that only makes it worse—if that’s possible.”

  Ariela looked at her sympathetically. It was strange to find herself nursing her nurse for a change. She forced a few crackers on her friend.

  “I’m getting nervous about waiting six more weeks for the wedding. What if we bumped it up?” Jean took a bite.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want to start showing too much tummy in my dress.”

  “The way you’re keeping food down? Not a chance.”

  “You sure?” she asked, clearly worried.

  “I’m sure. You’ll still be able to wear a two-piece on your honeymoon.”

  That brought a smile. Jean picked up her bottle of juice and took a good, long swallow. “Now it’s your turn,” she said, coming up for air. “How are you holding up?”

  “You’re a good distraction. I’d much rather talk about your worries than mine. Yours seem a lot more manageable.”

  “Nice try. How’s Dylan?”

  “I wish I knew,” Ariela said honestly and her brave mask cracked.

  “Oh, honey.” Jean’s eyes started to tear up too.

  “I’m so confused.” Ariela threw out her hands. “I love him so much, but loving him is terrifying. I don’t know if I can handle it. Whenever he leaves, and he’s always going to leave, he takes a piece of me with him. How can I live like that? Sometimes at night, I’ll lie there thinking about the future. What if we get married, have kids? How much time will I have with him, or will I be raising our child, our children, on my own half the time? Do I want to be a single parent? I don't know.”

  Jean nodded, understanding. “But if you had a child together, you’d never be lonely. You could look at them and see a little of Dylan in them too. It would make missing him a little easier to handle, don’t you think? And there’s always Max. You know he’d be a big help,” she added with a laugh.

  Ariela snorted with the giggles, dashing the tears from the corners of her eyes. “What if I’m not strong enough to handle the stress of losing him?”

  “I don’t know if I’d be strong enough to handle losing Ron either. The difference is I’m going to marry him anyway, and not obsess over things I can’t control or predict. He’s stuck with me.”

  Smiling, Ariela blotted her nose with a tissue.

  Jean went on. “Your choice is whether you lose Dylan now, or forty years from now.”

  ***

  Dr. Abdullah Hadad was an older version of his son. It was easy to see Ali in the man, even if he was slightly shorter and carried the solid build that often followed maturity. When they met in the airport just before boarding, Dylan could feel the man’s grief radiating off of him like waves of desert heat.

  It was during the flight that Dylan was able to offer his condolences in person. He described Ali’s invaluable contributions to his work, and expressed his genuine affection and friendship for the young man. Dr. Hadad graciously accepted the kind words. Now that the awkwardness was removed, he went on to tell Dylan about his other two children; a thirteen-year-old boy, and a nine-year-old girl, both already in Toronto.

  “You know, sons are our pride, but daughters are our treasure.” He smiled when he said this, one of his few smiles.

  Then the professor turned the conversation by expressing an interest in Dylan’s children.

  Dylan smiled. “I haven’t gotten around to starting a family yet.”

  The professor patted his arm. “You’re still young. Men have the luxury of time, if they don’t have parents wailing for grandchildren. You shouldn’t be concerned.”

  Trying to hold back a chuckle, he said, “Don’t worry—I’m not. I assure you.”

  Yet, his thoughts betrayed him when they slid back to Ariela. He imagined her pregnant with his child. Talk about a pipe dream. He wasn’t even sure if she wanted him anymore.

  The older man dropped the subject, admitting instead how much he regretted putting his sisters in the position of laying down the law to their mother about leaving. It couldn’t have been easy. He confessed he’d even given them permission to trot out the old head of the household argument on her if she proved too difficult.

  Dylan laughed. “Guilt always worked in my family.”

  Abdullah rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Ah yes, I can imagine.” He glanced over. “I’ll think on the best approach, something tailored to her particularly and which she can’t withstand. One way or another, she’s coming with us. I’d rather not drag her out bodily. There’d be no dignity in it for either of us. Once the books are gone, there will be no reason for her to remain, especially if I promise to bring her home to be buried. That will take some work, but hopefully there’ll be plenty of time to worry about those details later.”

  Dylan liked the idea. He liked the man even more.

  ***

  Not long after the plane touched down, they were choppered over to the Green Zone and met just off the pad by their hired contractors, Bruce and Rich. Both men looked like they’d come straight out of Special Ops, with biceps as thick around as a man’s thigh, and pistols resting comfortably on their hips. They were both well over six feet tall, seasoned and serious.

  Captain Paul Barnes sat in on their briefing, without getting involved, while Dylan listened to their plan for the next day. Afterward, Bruce and Rich asked Dylan to join them on the shooting range so they could see how he handled small arms. Since the professor preferred not to carry a weapon, he wasn’t included in the invitation.


  Dylan had serious nerves when, after ten minutes of hitting the target, not necessarily in the center but always within the rings, Bruce walked over and took his pistol away and put a rifle in his hands.

  “Ever fire one of these?” Bruce asked him.

  “I used to hunt with my grandpa when I was a teen. But this isn’t exactly a hunting rifle.”

  Rich looked over at him and snorted. “No shit. That’s a standard issue M-16 semi-automatic. Let’s see what you can do with it.”

  Bruce chuckled. “It’s loaded and ready to fire. Just remember the kick and go easy on the trigger. That baby wants to pump like a dog in heat. Think you can handle it?”

  “I’ve got it.” Dylan seated the stock against his shoulder and eyed down the tip, lining up his shot. Bruce stepped back, and Dylan squeezed the trigger. He struck the target dead center, exactly where he wanted to be.

  He turned with an amazed smile to see Bruce cock his head at him. “Okay. Do that again, a few more times, and I’ll be satisfied.”

  Bruce returned with a sleek, no-frills gun, and Dylan stopped to stare at it. “What the hell is that?”

  Bruce laughed. “M-1014. It’s a joint-service shotgun, and this baby is mine. I just wanted to play with her a little.”

  Afterwards, they didn’t offer any comments—positive or negative—about Dylan’s ability, but they must have found him satisfactory because they didn’t look worried when they broke for dinner. Dylan found a little time alone in a corner of the commissary to send Ariela a message.

  To: arielap@

  From: dylanbond@

  Subject: Safe and sound.

  Message: I wish I felt as good about us as I do about what we'll be doing tomorrow. We left so much unsaid before I left. More than anything, I want you, and need you, to forgive me for doing what I have to. When I get back, I hope you're willing to work things out between us. I need to know what you want from me as a man, not just a journalist. Somehow, who I am always seems to get lost behind what I am with you. Can you accept that there's a person inside me too? I can't think of my future without seeing flashes of you at the center of it. What do you see? Do I figure at all in your plans? I hope so. I'll always love you, regardless of your decision. With stopovers and connecting flights, I won't be back until Saturday morning, flight 5480, ETA 7:40a.m. I guess I'll know your answer then. I miss you. Dylan