Her Last Line of Defense (14 page)

Claire sat for a second. That wasn’t a good sign. She didn’t expect a giant make-out session in the parking lot but she thought he’d at least say something to her.

She jumped down from the truck and circled to the tailgate, where he was unlocking her gear. “So, here we are.”

“Yeah.”

“Need some help with the luggage?”

A glimmer of humor peeked out. “No, I think I can manage. Ready to go see your father?”

She pursed her lips. Her daddy was sure to have plenty to say about her disappearing for a week, but she had plenty to say about her “spy in the sky” supplies. “He’ll be pleased with how much I’ve learned.” She winked at Luc, hoping he’d smile back.

He didn’t, hefting her duffel bag. Maybe he was unsure of what to say, but she’d been thinking. “Luc, I was thinking about that girl in the trailer out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Yeah?”

“What if I stayed here and took a job working with families like that…” She trailed off at the look of alarm on his face.

“Stay here, where? The U.S. or Fayetteville? Give up your plans for San Lucas?”

Stung, she snapped, “I’d thought you’d be happy. You’re always telling me what a hellhole it is.”

“That part hasn’t changed. But I think you got tough enough to manage for the kind of work you’d be doing. And your
maman’
s friends will look after you.”

“I can look after myself now. But I thought after what we—that time we spent together…” His face turned blank and hard, and she hated how her voice trailed away. He looked as if he were about to undergo a particularly unpleasant mission. Maybe breaking up with her was. “Oh. I see.” She lifted her chin.

“Good luck, Claire.” He cupped her jaw and brushed a thumb across her cheek. Then he walked away.

“Kiss my ass, Luc!” she shouted after him. He wanted to be the Noble Soldier and walk off into the sunset, confident he was doing her a favor by leaving her first.

“What?” He turned back in shock.

“You heard me. You’re running away.”

His jaw clenched. “You should know, Claire. You’re running off to the jungle because you can’t stand up to your father if you stay in Virginia.”

“I offered to stay with
you
since I love you, you dope.”

The
L
word fell between them like an unexploded grenade. “I never asked you to love me.”

This wasn’t going at all how she’d planned. “Then you shouldn’t have been so wonderful.”

He looked like he sucked on a lemon. “You got the wrong man, Claire. You want wonderful, you keep looking. I’m not. I’m broken, no good for you,
cher.”

She shook her head. “I would rather spend a minute with you than a lifetime with another man.”

“You don’t have that choice—sacrificing yourself for me.”

He still didn’t understand that he was worth any sacrifice. “I don’t have that choice since you’re taking it away. You and my father have more in common than you think—you both know what’s best for me. At least he does it out of love for me. You’re only doing it to protect yourself.”

“I’m trying to protect you, Claire.”

“Well, don’t. I don’t want your protection. I have developed your fabled mental toughness. I love you enough to let you go.” Tears stung her eyes and she knew she had to get away before he saw them. “Goodbye, Luc.” This time, she was the one to turn her back on him and walk away.

And he didn’t stop her.

Olie pursed his lips. “You’re lucky you’re not reporting for a court martial, boy. Or a public flogging in the town square, if the good congressman had his druthers. Oh, at ease.” He shook his head in annoyance.

Luc dropped into Olie’s visitor chair.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Rage?”

Luc shook himself a bit. It had been a week since anyone had called him that, and the funny thing was, the rage he’d been carrying around since T-Bone and Angélique died had lifted. “I trained Miss Cook in basic survival skills as best as I could, considering the differences in terrain and climate compared to San Lucas. She is now somewhat proficient in food-gathering, fire-starting and map-reading. We even conducted a mini-SERE exercise.” He forced himself not to think of how he had captured her and she had shown him who was really in charge.

Olie’s eyes narrowed. Some of Luc’s memories must have shown up on his face. “Is that all you trained her in, Sergeant? Because I distinctly recalling you giving me your word as a soldier and gentleman that Miss Cook was safe in your company. That you would not lay a single finger on her pretty self.”

Luc couldn’t meet Olie’s glare. He had sworn, and he had broken his word.

“Dammit all, Rage.” Olie thunked his fist down on the desk. “I specifically warned you she was too pretty and you were too horny to take her out in the woods alone, but do you listen to me? No, you don’t.”

“It wasn’t like that,” he growled.

“It wasn’t?” Olie drummed his fingers. “I get it now—it was her idea, right? Maybe she’s one of those party girls who wanted to get laid by a real American fighting man before leaving the country. I can understand that—you were horny, she was slutty—”

Luc was on his feet grabbing Olie by the lapels and giving him a good shake. “Don’t you ever talk about Claire like that!”

Olie stared coolly at him. “So that’s how it is.”

Luc shoved him into his seat and spun away, shaking. He’d never lost his cool like that, much less laid hands on a superior officer. Olie could have him up on charges and Luc would deserve every one of them.

“Luc. Sit.” Olie’s tone was gentle.

Luc rubbed his face in an effort to regain his composure before turning around. “What do you mean, ‘So that’s how it is’?”

“You ever been in love before?”

“What?” Luc’s eyes bugged out. “Hell no, and I ain’t in love now.”

“You say so.” Olie steepled his fingers together, scrutinizing him head to toe. Luc hated that gesture.

“Yeah, I do say so. We did get, um, close, but I was upfront with her about how it never worked out with me getting close to one particular woman.”

“You mean, fall in love?” Olie asked dryly.

He shrugged, not even wanting to say the word. “Claire tried to tell me it was okay if I ever had to leave, that she would be waiting for me when I came back.”

“She was willing to give up her dream of doing good in the jungle to hang around Fayetteville, North Carolina, in that dingy bachelor pad of yours? Willing to stay here for the chance of being with you when you came home from your deployment? Away from her friends, her family, her job?”

Luc shifted. “We never discussed any details. I told her she’d always have regrets if she didn’t follow her dreams. So…” He raised his palms. “I guess she’s gonna follow them.”

Throughout his explanation, Olie’s ruddy face grew darker and darker until he looked like a tomato with blond eyebrows. It had been a long time since Luc had seen him that angry. “What? You think I should go along with this? It’ll bring her nothing but heartache. You, of all people, should know that.”

“We’re not talking about me, you stupid jackass! You utter and complete moron.” Olie called him another couple of profane names. “You dare call yourself a Green Beret? Wah, wah, wah.” Olie leaped to his feet and came around his desk. “‘I found this girl who loves my ugly ass and I don’t have the balls to do anything about it.’ You make me sick, Rage.”

“Hey!” Luc jumped up, too, going toe-to-toe with his CO.

“Chickenshit.” Olie shoved him in the chest. “Life is handing you a gift and you’re throwing it down and stomping your boots all over it.”

“A gift?” Luc clenched his fists. “You think Claire will call it a gift when I go overseas for months or years at a time? When I don’t come home for Christmas? Or if I
do
come home in a box and they hand her a folded flag? More like a mistake.”

Olie stabbed his finger at T-Bone’s photo on the wall. “Go ask Mariel,” Olie thundered. Mariel was T-Bone’s widow. “Go ask their kids. Was marrying him a mistake? Were their three kids a mistake?”

“No, of course not,” he muttered.

“I know you went to visit Mariel once you got patched up. What did she tell you?”

Luc swallowed hard.

“Come on, what did she say?”

“She thanked me for trying to save him. That it wasn’t my fault Tom died.”

“Damn right. It was the fault of that SOB who sent an RPG into our boat and shot us up. What else?”

Luc wiped his stinging eyes. “She said she would have rather spent five minutes with Tom than fifty years with another man. But…” He stopped in shock. Claire had told him the same thing, almost word for word.

“And she meant it.” Olie wiped his own eyes. “What woman is willing to put up with that? What woman would cry for us if we died, Rage? Only a woman who truly loves her Green Beret, that’s who.”

“Claire would.” He looked at Olie, his heart pounding. “She said she loved me enough to let me go.”

Olie crashed his palm down on the table. “Well, hallelujah, you’re not as dumb as you look.”

“But I let her go.”

“I take that back—you’re even dumber.”

He pulled out a beer and flipped up the recliner while he surfed through the channels. Local news, nothing good on sports, some weepy chick flick, national news with talking heads yapping about Afghanistan and Iraq as if they could even find the places on a map. As if they could even find their asses with two hands and a map. He told them all where to go using several rude French verbs and was about to turn off the TV when Claire’s father, of all people, popped up on C-SPAN. The man looked good on TV, Luc had to admit, a wise elder statesman-type. Luc shook his head. Bad enough he had to get that woman out of his system without seeing reminders of her on TV.

He shut off the TV and rubbed his eyes. Maybe he should try to get some sleep. He was planning to leave for Louisiana in a couple days and wouldn’t get much rest sleeping on his parents’ couch.

No more tents or swamps, at least not for now. Tonight Luc would sleep on a bed for the first time in a week.

Sleep alone for the first time since he and Claire had started making love.

And love was what it was.

He loved Claire. He should have known that back in the woods, should have known that when he’d dropped her off to her father, when he’d shoved her out of his life.

What was he supposed to do now? He stared blankly at the dark TV screen, as blank as his mind except for the overwhelming loss. For a man who made life-and-death decisions on a frequent basis, he was sure screwing up. He had used up more of his lives than a cat, and chances were he might not live to be an old man. Claire was only twenty-four. T-Bone’s widow was only a couple years older.

He sighed and set down his beer. It was making him too sentimental, anyway. He reached for his mail, automatically flipping aside the junk into one pile, bills into another. There was no personal mail. Never was.

Finally, the catalogs on the bottom. He shook his head. What the hell kind of mailing list had he gotten on? Sure, he understood the knife and gun catalogs, but home decoration and fluffy gift catalogs? He was about to toss one aside when the model on the cover caught his eye.

No, it wasn’t Claire, although her peachy skin and dark hair was a close match. Calling himself ten thousand kinds of a fool, he opened the pages to look for any more pictures of the model. He didn’t have any photos of Claire.

After several pages of clever T-shirts, puppy statues and hand-painted wineglasses, he was about ready to close it when he spotted a ring. A simple gold band, it was engraved with the French script
“Vous et nul autre.” You, and no other.

Luc felt like the time Olie had sucker-punched him in the gut during hand-to-hand combat training. He read the catalog description—a reproduction of a medieval ring given by one lover to another.

You, and no other.
That was who Claire was. Only Claire—no other woman would ever do for him. He flipped the recliner lever and leaped up. He knew what he had to do, and it didn’t look like he’d sleep in a bed tonight, either.