Hero - The Assignment: A Military Romance (12 page)

“Is everything okay?” I asked, suddenly worried.

It was strange. After my parents died, I spent the next four and a half years acting like nothing bad could touch me. Ian was injured but survived, and now every little thing was making me think that something had gone wrong.

Mr. Davis stopped a few steps down the hallway and smiled again. “Yes, actually. Thank you. I just returned from a successful business trip and wanted to give your grandfather the news in person.”

“So it was good news?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. He glanced down at my outfit. “Going out?”

I was wearing a low-cut light aqua blue dress. The material shimmered under the hall lights as did the matching sequined fronts of my high heels. I checked my smoky eyeliner and curled eyelashes in an antique mirror. The effect was dramatic, and perfect for the underwater theme of the nightclub Paris and I would be visiting tonight.

I smiled. “Of course.” I glanced at the door. “Is he in a good mood?”

Mr. Davis chuckled and shook his head. “Enjoy your freedom, Ms. Machus.”

I frowned as the lawyer left. That hadn't sounded promising. When I turned around, my grandfather was waiting with his office door held open.

“Good news,” Grandfather said. He had that smile on his face that meant something had gone his way. That happened a lot, and it rarely meant anything good for me. “I've hired the perfect bodyguard for you.”

“You already told me,” I said with a sigh. “The man who saved Ian.” I scowled. “I guess that means I have to be nice to him.”

Grandfather frowned, his eyes flicking down to my dress and shoes. “You're going out.” It was a statement rather than a question.

I spun on my high heels and stalked out of the office. As I went, I threw a last comment over my shoulder. “Guess I better get my fun in before my warden arrives.”

I wasn't really surprised when I didn't get a reply. One call from Grandfather and my driver would refuse to start the car. But, when I bounced down the front steps, the car door was open and waiting. I tossed my tiny shell-shaped purse on the far seat and slid inside. As the car pulled down the driveway, I remembered what Grandfather had said about paying people to keep an eye on me. I guessed he figured he could keep that up until this guy arrived.

During the entire ride to the nightclub, I kept expecting to hear my phone vibrating. I assumed Grandfather was perfecting the text message lecture, and though I decided I would make a point of ignoring the content until the very last moment, I was shocked when no message arrived. If I hadn't known about the arriving menace, I would've almost thought Grandfather was letting me be an adult.

“One last night of freedom?” Paris asked as soon as she opened the car door at the curb.

Her dark wavy hair had been woven between goldfish clips made from actual gold. Their diamond eyes winked as she pulled me under the nightclub's bright marquee.

“No warden yet,” I said. “But it sounds like he's arriving soon.”

“Too bad.” She grinned at me. “Bodyguards are hot.”

“Really?” I asked. “You want one?”

We both waved to the bouncer who didn't even bother checking his clipboard before he undid the velvet rope and let us in. We descended stairs that doubled as a glowing aquarium and headed to the bar. Paris ordered shots as I watched a mermaid swing through the elaborate tank above the bar.

“So hot,” Paris said.

“What?” I asked, wondering how the mermaids breathed in there. I loved the concept, but the mechanics seemed like they'd be a pain.

“Bodyguards,” she said. “Bodyguards are hot. Don't you think?”

“Please,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “They're glorified babysitters. And they make me look like I think I'm some sort of celebrity or something. Have you ever actually known someone who had a bodyguard?”

Paris handed me a shot and we threw them back before she answered my question. “Anna Farron. Remember? Her father was getting death threats because he worked for that political place.”

“The American Embassy in Damascus,” I said automatically.

“Yeah, sure, that place.”

She gave me a funny look, the kind most people gave me when I said something that proved the dumb rich girl act was just that. An act. “Anyway, Anna had a bodyguard who no one was even allowed to talk to. He just followed her around and communicated with the driver over this little bud he wore in his ear. Looked extremely hot in a suit.”

“So that's your fantasy?” I asked. “A man who's not even supposed to talk to you and someone else listening through an earbud?”

Paris fanned herself and nodded, her eyes sparkling. I laughed and ordered another round of shots. If we were going to celebrate my last night of freedom, then I intended to make it worthwhile.

“Don't forget the muscles,” she continued. “Bodyguards are usually in top physical condition.”

“Okay, that sounds better,” I said. Before I could stop myself, I added, “Did I tell you my bodyguard is actually ex-military? Army, Special Forces.”

“Oh, god,” Paris said, collapsing against my arm. “Now there's another fantasy: a man in uniform.”

“I'm surprised you haven't checked that off your list yet,” I said.

Paris handed me my second shot. “The closest I've come to a man in uniform is that time you cracked your head and some military guy pulled you out of the pool. Remember that?”

My cheeks flared with heat, and it wasn't only from the alcohol. For some reason, I'd never told Paris what happened that night. She knew he said he'd take care of me, but when she'd gotten back from her trip to Hong Kong, she'd been more about telling me about the men she met, and I'd told her how Ricky and I had broken up for the fourth time. I'd never mentioned
him
. Part of me said it was because he hadn't been that important, but a smaller part wondered if maybe I hadn't told Paris because he'd been
too
important.

“Oh, whoa, wait.” She grabbed my arm. “What's that look for? Did I miss something? Did something happen with your hot hero?”

“Come on, let's dance.” I got to my feet and pulled Paris after me before she could coerce a confession.

As we shimmied our way through the tight crowd of dancers, Paris fell back and laughed. I looked where she was pointing and saw a banner hanging between the colored lights. That night's cover charge gave a percentage to a Naval veterans relief fund called A Shore Thing.

I looked at the photograph of injured sailors displayed on the banner, and my heart clenched. My younger brother had made a full recovery and his injuries hadn't left any lingering physical issues, though he'd carry the scars the rest of his life. And even though he hadn't said anything, I knew those scars weren't only physical. I'd seen the shadow on his face, the pain in his eyes. I knew he'd watched his commanding officer die right in front of him, and there'd been nothing he could to do to stop it.

I pivoted and danced on my spindly heels and felt a pang of guilt like a knock on my chest. Ian might have those scars, but he could walk. Run. Dance. He'd been lucky. I'd always known that him serving in the army could mean he'd be killed or injured in some horrible way, but it had been a distant knowledge.

Had been. Now, it was all too real.

“Maybe your bodyguard should wear his uniform,” Paris said, dancing over to yell in my ear.

“I don't know,” I said, pushing thoughts of Ian and what could still happen to him out of my mind. “Camouflage isn't very attractive.”

“It is if he's hot,” she countered. “Maybe you can get him into his dress uniform. Don't they all have one?”

“I don't care what he wears,” I said, my voice sharp. “I don't want a babysitter.”

“We'll find a way to ditch him, don't worry.”

“Maybe I'll tell Grandfather he groped me, and I won't have to see him again,” I said. “Then I'll be free.”

Paris laughed, but I suddenly felt mean. I hadn't even really meant it. It had just sort of slipped out. My dance steps slowed and Paris darted through the crowd to a tall, attractive man who had smiled at her. I let the crowd surge around me and slipped backwards off the dance floor.

My thoughts had left the club and returned to my brother. All Ian wanted was to return to active duty. He'd been livid when he'd heard Grandfather had pulled enough strings to get him an honorable discharge. I'd tried to talk to him about it, surprising us both by taking Grandfather's side.

“I gotta get back,” Ian said. “I gotta do my part. I didn't even get a chance to make a real difference.”

“You did your part and you got hurt doing it,” I reminded him.

“That's not it,” he said. His face was thinner than it had been before he'd left, and what had happened to him left new lines on his face. He didn't look like my baby brother anymore. “You don't understand. Another man almost died for me. I can't spend the rest of my life lounging around here. That's no way to repay him.”

“I'm sure he'd understand,” I said. “And you could do so much good here. Away from all that. No one thinks you need to go back.”

“I want to,” he insisted. “I need to.”

I didn't understand it, the selfless decision to sacrifice for something untouchable like freedom. But I knew Ian wasn't the only one who felt that way. I looked at the banner again. Those men, I knew, would do the same thing if their injuries hadn't prevented them from being able to.

I walked back to the bar and leaned against it. Within seconds, the bartender appeared in front of me. A long line of thirsty dancers scowled at me, but I ignored them.

“You know anything about the charity tonight?” I asked.

“No proceeds from drink specials or anything like that,” the bartender said, “but they are taking donations.”

He nodded toward a narrow black table near the exit sign. Two resigned-looking men in dress uniforms stood at attention on either side of what I assumed was a very empty bucket. A lot of the women, and even a few men, were giving them appreciative looks, but no one had ventured over. I wondered how many women they'd had to turn down before the rest had gotten the hint.

“How much to get them into the VIP section?” I asked.

The bartender looked surprised, but answered my question without an additional comment. “Just convince the bouncer.”

I left the bar without ordering and headed toward the VIP ropes. It was the same as every other club. A mountainous bouncer guarded the entrance as if the slightly raised section was actually better than any other place in the club. A few more comfortable seats, a sense of importance, and expensive bottle service were the only differences between the area behind the velvet ropes and the rest of the space. Now I wondered why I'd ever really thought that mattered.

“Can you help me out?” I gave the bouncer my sweetest smile.

He looked down and tipped his head. The expression on his face clearly said he was wondering why I was speaking directly to him instead of walking past.

I pointed toward the servicemen. “I want them to bring their donations table into this section.”

The bouncer blinked at the men in uniform and then looked back at me.

“They'll get better donations in there.” An idea popped into my head as I watched a group of giggling girls try to include the men in their selfie. “Especially if you tell them to charge for pictures.”

A barely perceptible nod had me on my tiptoes to kiss the bouncer's cheek. His expression warmed and, as he turned, I saw a tattoo on his bicep that made me think he might've already been trying to figure out a way to get the men into a better area.

Once the table was set up in the VIP section, the soldiers resumed their previous position. The bouncer opened the velvet rope for me, and I went directly to the table, hoping I could help them relax a bit. Paris caught me before I could reach them.

“Seems tacky, right?” Her 'whisper' wasn't very quiet. “I mean isn't the whole point of the velvet rope to keep stuff like this out?”

She tossed her hair, and I thought that one of her diamond-eyed gold fish hair clips would make a perfect donation. And probably bring in more than they'd already collected.

“I mean, men in uniform are hot and all,” Paris said. “But I'm not here to be charitable. If I wanted a reminder that we're in this ridiculous war, I'd watch the news.”

“At least get a picture,” I spoke through gritted teeth and tried to keep my tone civil. “Come on, I'll pay.” She gave me a disgusted look, but I kept pushing. “You were the one going on and on about your men in uniform fantasy. At least get a picture.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Oh, okay.” She walked over to the men and smiled. “Come on, sailors, and give me a kiss.”

I pulled out a hundred dollar bill and handed it to them. They both kissed Paris' cheeks and squealed and made a scene, which, for once, was the exact thing I'd wanted. I took a couple pictures to make sure we'd gathered plenty of attention and, before we moved on to our private booth, a line had formed.

As Paris and a couple other girls I sort of knew giggled and drank their expensive champagne, I watched a steady stream of women and men making generous donations in return for posed pictures with the sailors. I allowed myself a little smile and a bit of pride as I thought of Ian. That money would help young men like him recover from whatever their sacrifice had been.