by Regan Black
He dusted off his shorts and she yanked her board out of the sand. Together they hustled up to the house and ducked under the cover as the bottom fell out of the heavy rain clouds.
It was like being caught in the eye of a storm with sheets of rain blowing all around them. Under the house the wind created a chill against his bare legs. In her wet rash guard and swim shorts, she had to be freezing. Thankfully there was a central staircase leading straight to the kitchen.
Instead of heading in, she watched the wind whip up the waves, her arms wrapped around her middle. “You probably don’t want to go out in this tonight,” she said. “Our date can wait.”
Kevin must have told her a heavy rainstorm had contributed to the crash that killed their parents. “It won’t bother me,” he promised.
“You sure?”
“I am.” When she gazed up at him, eyes swimming with concern, he pulled her close. “I am,” he murmured again, lowering his lips to hers. He meant to keep it light, but the taste of her laced with ocean salt shot right through him.
“Gracie? Derek?” Patricia’s voice carried from the top of the stairs.
Grace Ann smothered a giggle against his shoulder. “Just watching the weather, Mom,” she called back.
“As long as you haven’t been washed away.”
The door closed and Grace Ann’s laughter spilled out, like a beam of sunlight breaking through the clouds. “They’ll still be checking on me when I’m fifty.”
“It’s good to know they love you.”
“Always,” she agreed, darting for the stairs. “And now we’ll have to rush if we’re going to get out of here before that interview airs.”
* * *
The speedy shower and quick change of clothes, followed by the short, blurry drive to town, didn’t settle Grace Ann. Her nerves were humming after kissing Derek under the house, the mist against her face, her skin prickling with the chilly air and the heat of his embrace. The man had a definite skill and her lips tingled all over again. Though she thoroughly enjoyed sleeping beside him and getting caught up on her rest, she couldn’t wait for an encore of the mind-blowing passion they’d shared at the hotel.
He continued to amaze her, in big ways and small, and his ability to adapt and roll right along with her family left a trail of flowery, happy thoughts drifting through her mind. So tempting to let those feelings take root and bloom, but she wasn’t sure how Derek felt about a forever kind of thing with a slightly broken nurse.
The spot she’d recommended wasn’t a dive, but business casual would’ve made them vastly overdressed. The bar was doing brisk business thanks to the weather. Derek wore faded jeans and running shoes with a graphic T-shirt that emphasized his chest and biceps. His hair, mussed by the weather, made her want to run her hands through the thick waves. She didn’t think she’d ever get this longing for him out of her system.
She wondered what he’d do if she told him she’d fallen irrevocably in love with him. There would be time for that once Hank had Eaton in custody and the Riley Hunter nonsense was over.
At the bar, they ordered two flavors of hot wings and a couple of soft drinks, and waited for a pool table in the back room to open up, since the rain washed out their plans for a beach picnic. They talked about fantasy camping trips and the outdoor experiences they hadn’t yet conquered. It seemed both of them had an unending bucket list. He had a thing for rock climbing, which she appreciated if only because the effort had sculpted his arms, shoulders and chest to perfection.
This break would end soon and all of her siblings would return to their normal lives and schedules. Derek needed to get back to work as well, and though the thought made her nervous, she knew Hank would keep an eye on him if necessary. If she was still suspended, she’d have to find something to do. Hanging here with her parents was the logical choice, but it still felt too much like cowering.
For the moment, she was content to admire Derek playing pool. He had a way of moving, of eyeing her as she made her shots, that kept her blood humming.
Taking his turn, he bent low and lined up his shot. “Have you decided to come to my place for a few days after this mess is over?” The stick connected with the cue ball and sent one of his striped balls into the corner pocket near her hip. He straightened, held her gaze. “I’d rather you weren’t alone at your place.”
“I’m not thrilled with that idea either, but I need to go back sometime.” She needed to be an adult and face those demons. Hank told her the bugs were gone and the team continued to keep watch.
She watched Derek sink another ball. He took control of the table and she could only move out of his way as he made shot after shot, finally sinking the eight ball. “And here I thought the big sharks were well off the coast this time of year,” she teased.
He laughed and the deep rumble sent another ripple of sweet anticipation down her spine. “Two out of three?” he asked, reaching for the form to rack up another game.
She started to reply when she heard someone swear and ask the bartender to change the channel on the television. Not uncommon, though usually it was a sporting event that prompted the request.
“Rileys are good people,” another man said. “That’s nothing but fake news.”
She caught Derek’s narrowed gaze and shook her head. It seemed they weren’t going to avoid the interview after all. Moving toward the television in the corner of the poolroom, she read the ticker at the bottom of the screen.
Her first thought was that it had to be a nightmare. The words—the lies—were incomprehensible. On the screen, she and Derek sat side by side while images from the explosion were playing in a smaller inset. None of it was enough of a distraction from the ticker. A string of reprimands, none of them true, was being broadcast to the world, making her look like a fraud at best, oblivious and insensitive at worst.
Her career was crumbling under an assault she’d never seen coming.
“We have to get back,” she said, reaching for her cell phone.
“On it.” Derek had flagged down the waitress and was already settling the check.
She felt every pair of eyes in the place watching her. It wouldn’t do any good to defend herself. Someone was likely recording her anyway, for Eaton or to sell to the media, and she wouldn’t hand them ammunition to use against her or the army.
“You think Eaton fed her that info?” Derek asked when they were in the car.
“Not directly.” She stared out the window, seeking those dark glimpses of the ocean between the buildings and businesses. That darkness called to her and she longed to get lost in it. “The reporter did her legwork, digging into my service record for dirt. Hank purposely didn’t hide the suspension when he set it up,” she said, thinking out loud.
“I’m sure he didn’t expect her to twist it like that.”
She was going to have to face her family, to explain those infractions and the kernel of truth that had sprouted and grown into unmanageable rumors.
Whatever Eaton had in mind, a prank she’d pulled in anger downrange had just come back to haunt her. When they walked in, everyone but Hank was waiting in the family room, gathered around the television. She supposed Hank was already trying to put out the fires. Telling herself it was better to just get it all out, she met her father’s flummoxed gaze.
Luke muted the broadcast that had switched over to an analysis of her behavior and the stability of soldiers returning from war zones.
“It’s not all true,” she began, facing her father.
He waited in silence. It was an effective tactic.
“H.B. was a disgrace to the uniform,” she said. “He was a pencil-pushing coward.”
“So you threatened his life with a grenade?” Her mother glared, quoting one of the claims from the ticker.
Mark’s sputtering laugh broke the tension. “The ‘homicidal tendencies’ deal is a proven
deployment exemption, sis. But you toss it out there before you go downrange.”
She rolled her eyes and got back to the point. “I was ready and willing to get in and get to work on the base or off. H.B., not so much.” She met her father’s gaze once more. “It was a stupid stunt I pulled a few weeks in. Naturally, he was on the advance party and he’d made a hash of it. Just as we got that sorted out and were hitting our stride as a team, he started nitpicking our scheduling and putting such strict controls on our movements we couldn’t carry out any work in the community. Community engagement was core to the mission.”
“That’s no excuse,” Ben interjected.
She held up her hands. “You’re right. He started a rumor that I only wanted to leave the base to spend more time with our interpreter.”
“Did anyone buy that?” Patricia asked.
“Of course not.” Grace Ann scrubbed at her face and then rushed through the next part. “He was scheduled to go out with us, but claimed a sprained ankle.”
“You’re sure it was a lie?”
She nodded at her father’s query, as exasperated now as she’d been then. “On the way back to the base, our team encountered some light arms fire, more annoyance than real danger. H.B. had one excuse after another, week in and week out. I got fed up and put a grenade on his desk.”
Mark and Luke couldn’t quite stifle their amusement, even when Patricia glared daggers at them.
“You threatened the man’s life?” Ben asked.
“He only thought I did.” She folded her arms, defiant now with the recollection. “It wasn’t a live grenade. Any basic trainee could have seen that right away. H.B. panicked and made a fool of himself.”
“How did he know it was you?” Luke asked.
She rolled her shoulders. In her wildest dreams, she’d never thought she’d have to explain this poor judgment to her father. “I signed the note.”
Patricia sucked in a breath. Her father swore. Her siblings, with the exception of Matt, fell into fits of laughter. Derek, along with Bethany and Caleb, was trying valiantly to stay neutral, with varying degrees of success.
“What did your commander say?” The disappointment in her father’s gaze shamed her.
“He laughed,” she said. “Privately. I had to publicly apologize to H.B. and deliver a safety training class to the unit.”
“Apparently H.B. didn’t accept your apology,” Patricia noted.
“I thought he did,” she said. “We got through the remainder of our time with little more than an aggravated glance here and there. We worked well in the operating room. He never left the base, though he stopped impeding those of us who were determined to do our job right.”
Ben and Patricia exchanged a speaking look.
“Were you formally reprimanded?”
The scrolling ticker had implied as much. “No.” She flung out a hand toward the television. “And I sure as hell didn’t plant a bomb on a street corner last week for him to walk into.”
“The ticker reported an anonymous source as well as links to a Wiki page with official reprimands,” Matt said.
“Those wouldn’t be from my personnel jacket,” she insisted. “I pushed one prank too far, yes, but that’s it.”
“Eaton,” Ben said. “He must have heard about this from H.B. and fabricated the rest. Hank will handle it.”
“I say margaritas for everyone,” Luke suggested before anyone else could react. “We’ve earned it.”
She appreciated being shoved out of the spotlight, though the idea of tequila didn’t sound smart under the circumstances. She shared a pitcher of virgin daiquiris with Bethany and Caleb and enjoyed the quieter, individual support her family offered throughout the rest of the evening.
The weather cleared and as everyone else headed for bed, Grace Ann slipped out onto the deck. The air was fresh and clean after the rain, the pulse of the ocean the only music at this hour. Derek found her, taking a seat in the chair next to hers without saying a word.
She reached for his hand, savoring that simple, deep connection. “There’s only one thing I miss about Afghanistan,” she said.
“What’s that?” Derek asked.
“The stars.”
Scooting closer, he reached over and stroked her cheek, the curve of her ear. “Do you remember the time we met up in the Smoky Mountains?”
“Of course.” Her eyes and heart were heavy with all her mistakes. “It was our second, no, our third trip.” Things had felt so easy then. They could slip away from reality and just enjoy each other. Eaton had changed that, turning H.B.’s wounded pride and childish temper against her.
“It was the first time I’d watched a meteor shower.”
“No way.” He spent too much time outside for that to be true.
“Way,” he insisted. “There were shooting stars occasionally when I was a kid, but nothing like that night.”
The marvel in his voice made her smile. “How did you break your nose?”
He touched the spot. “Kevin clocked me with a toy train.” He smirked. “I got even.”
“As you should,” she said, understanding.
“Come home with me, Grace Ann.” He caressed her chin, his fingers trailing down her neck and over her shoulder and away.
She missed that touch immediately, her body yearning toward him. “This is a bad time,” she reminded him. “I’m a liability to everyone, especially now.”
“Better if we just go our separate ways then?” he asked. “Or go back to what we’d settled for?”
No. That wasn’t what she meant. “Derek, I’m in a heavyweight fight for my career.” She propped up on her elbow. “I’m the definition of drama. Assuming I succeed, my work shifts are stressful on a relationship. Not to mention training assignments and overseas deployments.”
“I’m aware that nursing is a demanding career, in any context. It’s what you’re built for. Who you are. It’s what you love to do, but it’s only one facet of what I love about you.”
Love? Her heart leaped. Had she heard him right? Stunned, she sat up. She wanted to give him the words back, but she didn’t dare. Not until she was sure. She loved being an army nurse. Finding rewarding work in the medical field could prove a challenge after the latest blow to her reputation. No one paid attention to the retractions or follow-ups that cleared a person’s name; the dirt, true or not, was much more entertaining.
“You should be with someone stable. Someone who won’t trigger you,” she said.
He came around to crouch in front of her and she could have sworn there was amusement lurking in his blue eyes. “Do I look triggered?”
He didn’t actually. “The light’s bad out here,” she said.
“You can see me just fine. And you love me, too. You might be caught up in Eaton’s web right now, but you’re not a victim. I’m not sure you even know how to be.”
That was the highest compliment he could have given her. “I’ve been feeling sorry for myself quite a bit these past two weeks.” Longer really.
“If we counted all those individual minutes,” he said, “it might add up to an hour or two. I admit, I want to sweep you away from all of this—that’s something ingrained in me. Even if I could get away with that, avoidance isn’t your style.”
He knew her better than she realized. She was too bewildered to know what to do with that. “Derek.” I love you, too. Why couldn’t she get the words out?
“I’m not out to change you,” he said. “I’m asking you to keep me around. Let me be the person you come home to. Think about it.” He tugged her to her feet. “Come on. You need some sleep.”
“I’m not sure what good it’ll do,” she muttered, letting him guide her up to their room.
She felt off-kilter, a bit more each day, as if her mind and heart and body couldn’t quite agree on the best way to go about
keeping her alert and upright.
When he tucked her in and stretched out beside her on the bed, she nestled close, holding on to that cherished contentment she’d only ever found with him.
* * *
Eaton turned up the volume as the interview aired, looking for a chink in her damned Riley armor. She hadn’t broken. Hadn’t been driven to despair with the various attacks. Now she was on the news, basking in the praise of a grateful city.
He swore. He’d been so sure of his plan, trusting his research into her personal life as well as the ugly moments of her career that he could exploit.
Then the ticker started and he laughed.
The information he’d fabricated with Bartles for the misconduct case was working. And better than he could have hoped now that it was out there for public consumption. Oh, this was rich. Karma was in his corner after all. This gave him still more ways to torment General Riley, tarnishing that sterling reputation everyone went on and on about.
Eaton considered, again, the likely results of each of his options. Even with the reporter inadvertently playing his cards for him, he suspected the investigation he’d started would soon fall apart. His people in DC and Maryland and North Carolina were keeping him informed about everyone’s movements.
Thanks to the weak link that had been Bartles, the CID had his real name as well as the house where he’d once lived with his family. They might never find him here, but he wouldn’t leave anything to chance.
He turned to his board, where the five Riley children filled out a timeline that culminated with a cartoon sketch of the general on his knees, thoroughly defeated, begging for mercy.
Eaton visualized it every day: the moment when General Riley realized he’d lost the only battle that mattered. If he didn’t have his children, what was left? All those motivating addresses and pep talks, the briefings and awards, were nothing more than hot air when the man threw his best soldiers under the bus as it suited him.