JONATHAN W. WELLS
BELOVED SON
USMC
Semper Fi
Mark stood in the bright October sun remembering. It had only been four months. It seemed like a year. Jon’s grave lay peaceful and serene, undisturbed by the cartel. Kilos of opium still rested six feet under. No doubt the FBI would remedy that before long, but the drugs were the farthest things from Mark’s mind.
This moment was all about his friend, the happy-go-lucky man who used to put a positive spin on a crappy day and make everyone laugh in the process. Jon was a born gambler, a smart-alec when he bluffed during poker, and what they called an indirect leader. Even without the rank, he seemed to know how to reach his Marine brothers; how to inspire and cajole so a guy didn’t even realize his attitude was being changed.
No wonder Libby had fallen in love with him. Heck, everyone did.
At least that’s the man Mark thought he knew. He sat cross-legged in front of the headstone, resting his hand at the top of it like he would if it had been his buddy’s shoulder. All the evidence was stacked, weighed, and sorted. Jon had loved the Corps. Many men did. It was an honorable career choice. No doubt about it.
“Hey, Jon,” he said softly, not knowing how else to begin a conversation with a dead man. Still, things needed to be said, and Jon needed to hear them wherever he was. “I thought I knew you.”
A dog barked far away, reminding Mark he was in a quiet country town. Just down the road from the Clifton’s farm. The Wells household. The real world. Not Afghanistan.
“You were always smarter than me. You had everything I wanted. Hell, you had parents who loved you, and a girl who thought you walked on water. I saw the way she used to look at you. Heck. Libby probably still loves you.”
A train whistled along the line that ran through central Wisconsin. It sounded as far away as the barking dog. Mark scrubbed a hand over his face, wondering why he was here. His friend couldn’t hear him, could he?
“I guess I’m here today because you had us both believing you were going to marry her, but you weren’t. Once you hit Lejeune, you had no intentions of coming back to this dusty little town, did you?”
A simple, white cabbage butterfly floated by. Mark watched it go. The poor thing would be dead within the month, frozen in the first blast of a northern breeze out of Canada. It didn’t know that now. All it knew was that today, it lived. The sun shone. Life was good.
“She would have waited forever, and you would’ve let her. Heck, you’d already rescheduled your own wedding, what? Three times? How does a guy do that to the woman he loves?”
Mark fingered the final words on the headstone in front of him. This was the dumbest thing he had ever done. He could see his friend clearly, handsome, cocky, and charming to a fault, but Jon Wells was dead. There would be no voice from the grave, no specter to sit and chat with him like they did in the movies. Still....
“If you wanted the Marine Corps life instead of her, you should’ve told her. If you didn’t want to get married, if you didn’t love her anymore, you should’ve told her. Hell, Jon. It might have hurt her feelings, but you should’ve been square with her. Instead, you lied. You lied to me, too. You put this family through hell.”
The longer he sat there, the angrier he got. Mark clenched his fist, wanting to strike that marble headstone hard enough Jon could feel it wherever he was. Instead, Mark blew his anger away with a deliberate breath. After all was said and done, Jon wasn’t the lucky one.
Yeah, death pretty much summed up the worst of it, but he’d also tossed Libby’s love aside like it was nothing. He’d chosen the chaff of adventure for the gold of a sweet woman’s heart. Mark knew all about being tossed aside. Jon was a stupid, stupid man.
“Anyway, guess I just wanted you to know that I’m going to ask Libby to marry me. She’s hurting right now, but you know how she is. Libby’s tough. She’ll pull through. She’ll dance on that beach again. You’ll see.”
Mark stared across the cemetery grounds. So many ghosts lingered here. He could almost feel them. The smiling face of his buddy came to mind. He and Jon were brothers through and through—peacetime, wartime, and a heck of a lot of in-between times, too. He didn’t want to part enemies now.
With one final friendly smack to the headstone like he would have given to the side of his buddy’s head, Mark pushed off the ground.
“Libby loves you, too. We both do. You need to know that.”
He faced the grave, stiffened his back, and cocked his arm in a final salute to his friend.
“Talk to you later, Jon. Semper Fi.”
Twenty-Eight
Where am I?
Libby opened her eyes in the dark, her mind feeling for the edge of her unyielding stone universe. It was not there. Only a void of dark nothingness surrounded her.
Did I die? Am I dead?
She expected cold stone. Not this. Warmth caressed her face while softness lay lightly against her chin. She took a deep breath into congested lungs that coughed and wheezed for air, but she wasn’t cold. The knife of pneumonia in her chest wasn’t gone, but it had lessened. A bouquet of bright yellow flowers hovered beside her.
Am I dreaming? Are those flowers real?
The gray receded. The black walls of her tomb were gone, replaced with soft lights from the wall behind her. The flowers stood on an actual table. They weren’t floating. She was alive, but a shadow loomed overhead. The stone coffin lid tilted closed, and—
“Hey, there,” a gentle voice whispered. “You’re awake.”
“Mark?” she croaked, afraid to believe her eyes.
He pressed his forehead against hers. “You’re safe. I’ve got you now.”
She clutched his shirt. If she could have climbed inside of it with him, she would have. “I knew you would come,” she rasped hoarsely. “I knew it.”
He kissed her forehead and then her nose, but he was too close. She turned away from him, gasping for air. He backed off, but the minute he did, she grabbed his hand, realizing for the first time that hers were wrapped in thick white mittens. Bandages. She clung to him anyway, afraid this was another dream; that he might turn into concrete if she let him go. Dreams had lied to her before.
“Don’t leave me,” she croaked.
He lay in the bed alongside of her. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up, honey.” Very deliberately, he kissed her cheek and rested with his face in her hair, his breath warm and steady on her cheek.
She rolled to her side to see him better. The suffocating feeling returned. She arched away. Hurt glittered in his eyes, but—
I can’t breathe. She clenched his hand and squeezed her eyes shut.
“It’s okay,” he crooned soft and low. “Open your eyes, babe. You aren’t buried anymore. You’re here with me.”
She sucked in a deep breath, squinting through barely opened eyelids.
“Slow and easy,” he said softly. “There is plenty of air. You’re safe now.”
“But I was scared,” she cried. “It was so dark, and I couldn’t move.”
“I know. I was scared, too. I thought I’d lost you.” He caressed her cheek. “Settle down. Breathe slow and easy.”
“I couldn’t get out, Mark. I tried so hard.”
“I know,” he said calmly, “but you’re out now. You’re just having a panic attack. It’s okay. You’re here with me.”
“And ... and ... I was all alone.” She burst into tears all over again, burrowing into his arms and chest, afraid he was just another illusion like Tinkerbelle.
Her mind offered instant comparisons. If he was an illusion, he was a nice warm illusion for a change. Her panicky breathing slowed as she inhaled the fragrance of soap and manly deodorant instead of concrete, blood, and fear. She was clean, too, the filth of her tomb washed away. His arms around her were strong and comforting. She burrowed in closer, needing to hear his heartbeat.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump. She stilled to hear it b
etter. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Her panic faded. The rhythm of his heart turned into her mantra. Think of Mark. Think of Mark. He placed kisses to the top of her head. Steady as a workhorse, he kept on rocking and holding her.
“You saved me,” she murmured.
“You bet,” he whispered. “Me, Alex, Kelsey and Zack. We all saved you.”
“How long ... was I gone?”
“You were kidnapped four days ago. The Russians grabbed you at O’Hare. They stuck you in a concrete planter. It probably felt like a coffin, huh?”
“It was really cold. I prayed and prayed and ... I was scared.” She burst into tears again.
Mark kept on rocking and talking. “You cry all you want, babe. I’ve got you now.”
She settled down again. Rocking felt comforting. Safe.
“You’re very sick, and you need a lot more rest.”
With those words, she tightened her grip. “But you aren’t leaving me, are you?”
Mark enveloped her with both arms, one hand pressing her head to his chest. “I am never leaving you again, Libby Clifton.”
“Did she wake up?” The red-haired nurse asked.
Mark nodded from his prone position beside Libby, not wanting to disturb her sleep. She was hot and sweating, but still gripped his hand tightly against her chest.
The nurse pushed the side table away to check her IV and monitor. “Can I get you anything?” she whispered, peering over Mark’s shoulder at her patient. “Or do you already have everything you need?”
He glanced back to the smile in her emerald green eyes. “It’s stuffy in here. Could you lower the thermostat? Would that be okay?”
“How about if I open the window instead?” She drew the blinds open just enough to crack the window. Cool air wafted across the room. “I’m Judy O’Brien by the way. Buzz if you need anything.” She moved the call button within reach and patted his arm one last time before she left.
Nurse Judy had just hit the nail on the head. He did have everything he needed. The reality of all he could have lost shuddered through him. Mark tightened his grip, but relaxed it just as quickly. No more restraints for Libby. Never again. Only blue skies, sunny days, and whatever else he could do to make her smile.
He kept his nose in her hair. Kelsey had brushed and braided a swatch of it to control the unruly curls. The lovely scent of shampoo filled his cup to overflowing. This sweet, gentle, tender woman was his whole world. He couldn’t breathe without her. Hell, he couldn’t think. Every last ounce of his body, mind, and soul belonged to her whether she knew it or not.
Despite her fragile condition, Libby’s slender body tucked into his like they were made for each other, and that was the problem. All his hopes and wishes were now face to face with a lifetime of doubt. How could this delightful creature love him? How could anyone? She had said it before, and he’d seen it shining in her eyes, but really? Him?
Mark squeezed his eyes tight against the ghost of his father. His mother’s sweet smile glimmered through the gloom. She had loved birds. He recalled how she would run through the house at the first clarion call of the morning meadowlark in summer, flinging windows and doors wide open so she wouldn’t miss the next song. He had helped, thrilled for the game of playing with his Mom and letting the outdoors in. She danced with him, a silly happy jig like they were both little kids, like he couldn’t do anything to make her not love him.
“I love you,” he whispered quietly to his mother’s memory, still holding Libby against his heart. “I always will.”
“Hmmm.” Libby grunted softly. Her arm reached up to circle his head. She pushed her backside into his hips. “Don’t ever leave me, okay? I love you so much.”
One sweet clear strain of a meadowlark’s prayer called to him from the sunshine of the world outside. Mark blinked hard against the tears. Could it be possible?
Maybe.
“No-o-o!”
With the first shriek, Mark was off the chair and on his feet. Libby lay in bed thrashing, both hands in front of her face. He tried to calm her. She had already wrenched the IV line out of her arm.
“I’m here, Libby. I’m right here.” Cursing himself for thinking she might rest easier in bed, he tried to capture her flailing arms. She struck him full in the face with the heel of her hand.
Crunch. Ouch! Blood gushed down his neck.
“No-o-o!”
The night nurse stood at the door. She left only to return with a restraining belt.
“No way,” Mark yelled. “Get that thing out of here.”
“But this will keep both of you safe,” she insisted.
The nurse was probably the smarter of the two, but there was no way he was doing that to Libby. Still trying to hold her with one hand, he staunched a wad of tissues to his nose with the other.
Luckily, Judy showed up. “I can give her something to calm her down.”
“No drugs.” Mark leaned into Libby to keep her still. “She’s having a nightmare. That’s all.”
“She’s burning up, too. I’m calling her doctor.” Judy turned away to place the call.
“It’s okay baby,” Mark crooned against Libby’s cheek. She was definitely feverish. Damn. Not again.
“If you can hold her still,” Judy said when she finished the call, “I’m going to draw some blood. We need to know what’s causing the fever.”
Mark worked to calm Libby, but all he could do was exactly what he didn’t want to do, hold her tight while Judy drew the sample.
Libby hissed through clenched teeth. She pushed and grunted, fighting him tooth and nail. Blood splashed from his nose to the white bed covers making the struggle seem more horrific.
“I’ll be right back.” Judy left with the vials of blood.
“Come on, sweetheart. Talk to me. I promise. You’re okay.”
“No! No! No-o-o-o! I want out. I want out,” she screamed.
Out of where? His heart melted. She must be dreaming she was buried alive again.
“Libby,” Mark shouted as she took another raspy breath to scream. “I found you, remember? You’re not buried alive anymore.”
She blinked. Before she could get that scream out of her mouth, he called to her again. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. You’re in the hospital. Please wake up.”
Her eyes began to focus, but she was burning up. Where was Judy? One more time, he spoke loudly. “You’re safe, remember? You’re with me.”
“I’m ... I’m ... here.” She peered up at him, her eyes full of fever. “Someone ... was screaming.”
“That was you,” he soothed. “You were having a bad dream. That’s all.”
She touched his bloody face with hot fingers and palms wet with perspiration. “What happened … to you?”
“Nothing. Just got my nose in the way, that’s all. I’m fine. How are you?”
“Bad,” she rasped.
Judy marched into the room with a new IV and an ice compress for Mark’s nose.
“I see you’re awake,” she whispered as she put the new line in Libby’s arm and pressed her stethoscope to her chest.
“It hurts ... to breathe.” Tears trickled down the side of Libby’s head.
“I’m hearing a lot of congestion,” Judy said. “Your doctor’s on his way. We’ll know what’s going on when the lab calls.”
Mark held the compress tenderly against his nose, his other hand clenching Libby’s. He kissed her forehead, careful not to bleed on her.
Judy left the room momentarily, but came back in a quick minute and pushed a hypo into the IV line. And another. Before the second hypo, Libby’s eyes closed.
“She’s fighting two strains of pneumonia. I’ve given her a stronger antibiotic along with something to help her rest.” Judy slid an oxygen mask over Libby’s face and placed a cold compress on her forehead, another at the back of her neck. “We may need to move her to intensive care if we can’t get a handle on it here. I’m sorry about the restraints, but my nurse was following normal protoco
l. You scared poor Cassandra to death.”
He shook his head. “Libby’s had enough. I couldn’t do that to her again.”
Judy didn’t pursue the argument. “Do you want a doctor to look at your nose?”
“Nah. It’s just a nose.” He leaned his head back to stop the bleeding. It hurt, but he wasn’t about to admit it, not with Libby as sick as she was. A bloody nose was nothing.
“Don’t do that. You don’t want the blood in your stomach. Come here.” Judy steered him into the bathroom and had him lean over the sink, demonstrating where he needed to squeeze his nose. He winced the minute she touched it. The damn thing hurt like a son-of-a-gun.
“It’s broken, isn’t it?” she asked?
“Ah, yeah.” No kidding. He squinted through teary eyes. Definitely broken. Harley and Zack would never let him live this down, a big guy like him trounced by a dainty little girl.
“You’ll have two black eyes by the morning.”
“Cool, huh?” He grinned through the bloody tissues.
Judy frowned, both hands on her hips. “Cool?”
“Yeah. My Libby’s just like her Mom” Sick as she was, he was proud that his girl had a mean left hook. “She doesn’t know how to quit. You’ll see.”
Twenty-Nine
Libby squeaked one eye open, waking slowly. The cellophane crackle of congestion in her lungs was gone, along with her strength. Still, she felt better. Breathing was one of those things people took for granted. Not her. Not today. Pulling in a full breath, she eased into a sitting position.
Poor Mark. The room was dark, but there he was, sprawled in the recliner, a curled fist to his forehead and sound asleep. Aw. How sweet.
Libby pushed her tangled hair out of her eyes, really wanting to brush her teeth. That had to be a sign that she was better, wasn’t it? Several bright bouquets decorated the desk and countertops. An especially elegant crystal vase filled with the prettiest roses she had ever seen occupied her nightstand. Those had to be from Mark. Red roses for love – but no toothpaste anywhere in sight.
Mark (In the Company of Snipers Book 2) Page 25