Make Mine a Marine (72 page)

"Colonel." A stronger voice snapped through Drew's brain like a gunshot, waking him from his delusion. Hawk crossed the room and pulled a big knife. In two quick strokes he cut the prisoner free.

This older, beaten-down version of the man in the picture on Emma's desk tried to smile. "Hawk. Thank God. Are the others here?"

A quick nod. "You okay, Drew?" Hawk asked over his shoulder as he helped Jonathan Ramsey to his feet.

"What?" Drew asked.

Hawk glanced down at the blood on Drew's wrist. "It's nothing." Drew fought through the muddy confusion in his brain and picked up Hawk's rifle. "We'd better get to the chopper and out to the boat. I don't want to have to explain any of this to the authorities."

Drew dispatched two more men en route to the helipad, leading the way as Hawk half supported, half carried the weakened Jonathan across the compound. As soon as they were aboard, Brodie ran out of the servants' quarters and jumped into the chopper. "Go! Now!" he ordered.

In a tornado of wind gusts, the helicopter rose from the ground, putting distance between them and Moriarty's villa. As Rafe angled the chopper and headed toward the ocean, a second explosion on the ground rocked their ascent. But Rafe's steady hand piloted them safely away from the burning munitions storage shed.

"Nice work, Chief." shouted Rafe. "They sure won't be following us now." He grinned over his shoulder to the man buckled in the middle of the bench seat behind him. "You okay, Colonel?"

Jonathan nodded, his eyes closed. "I'm fine now, Del Rio." He opened his eyes and thanked each of them in turn. "Hawk. Brodie. Didn't Kel Murphy make it?"

Rafe turned his attention back to his flying. "He's already on the boat, waitin' to take us home."

"Home." Jonathan seemed to savor the word on his tongue. "It sounds good. Emma and Kerry?"

Drew gave him his full attention, and silently wondered if this shadow of a man was still Emma's larger-than-life hero. He wondered if he measured up to the love and loyalty she'd held in her heart for five long, lonely years.

"They'll be happy to see you." Drew answered the question himself.

Jonathan turned to Drew, turned far enough around so he could look at him with his uninjured eye. "Who are you?" he asked.

"A friend of Emma's."

He held his inspecting gaze, and Drew wondered if he realized the kind of feelings he had for Emma and Kerry. Those blue eyes, so like Kerry's, narrowed with a steel glint. And something like… laughter… glowed there.

Drew flashed back in time to another place, a different set of eyes. But the look was the same.

Before he could make any sense of it, before he could say anything else, Jonathan turned away.

Drew pulled out the first-aid kit and doctored the gash on his wrist in silence. Couldn't anyone else sense something strange about this man?  He sank into silence as the other four men reacquainted themselves. Didn't anyone else have the same suspicion he had about this rescue?

Maybe his opinion was clouded by the knowledge that taking Jonathan home meant losing Emma forever.

But these men were seasoned Marines. Veteran warriors. They knew how to size up a man or a situation at a glance. Didn't they understand what he did?

This mission had been way too easy.

And he had a sneaking suspicion that he alone knew exactly why James Moriarty hadn't been at the villa.

He was sitting in this helicopter, right beside Drew.

Chapter
Eleven

Jonathan was coming home!

After all this time, the love of her life was coming home.

Nerves mixed with excitement. Had he changed? He must be a different, harder man after years as a hostage. Had Moriarty broken his indomitable spirit?

She herself had changed, she knew. She'd become more assertive, more confident. She was raising a beautiful, smart little girl. And she had helped turn LadyTech into a multimillion-dollar corporation.

Would he still see her as his lady?

Would he still be her hero?

Emma craned her neck to see around the crowd of people in the concourse at Kansas City international Airport. Did this many people always travel to and from Mexico City? Why couldn't they find other ports of call to conduct business and take winter vacations?

She had a husband coming home!

The flight's arrival had been announced some minutes ago, but the plane was full and the passengers were taking their own sweet time to unload their gear and deplane. She paced back and forth in a three-step pattern, never taking her eyes from the gate. Kerry played contentedly in the chairs with Jas and baby Katie, while BJ stood close by, as eager to welcome her own husband home from a dangerous journey as Emma was eager to welcome... two men.

She stopped in her tracks.

Just the thought that her loyalties were divided between Jonathan and Drew was enough to make her question her heart. What about Drew? He'd risked his life to bring Jonathan home. He'd done so much. He'd helped her in so many ways.

Not all her thoughts had been for her husband.

How could she justify her feelings for Drew?

She'd barely slept in two days, and had the shadows beneath her eyes to prove it. When Kel wired and said he'd gotten them on an earlier flight, she'd given up all thoughts of rest or food. She had put on a dress that Jonathan had liked, bundled up Kerry, and raced to the airport. Six hours of waiting had now stretched her nerves to the breaking point.

She was all raw, exhausted and heartsick, desperate to see Jonathan and reclaim their love. The coffee Jas had bought for her only further upset an already nervous stomach. She needed to see him.  Hold him in her arms. She needed him to come home.

But she'd grown to need Drew, too.

One by one, or in romantic pairs, passengers filed from the jetway, past the steel and glass barriers that marked the restricted passenger area, and out into the circular hallways of the public concourse. Grown children greeted older parents. Friends hugged. Businessmen hurried by without acknowledging anyone in the crowd. Emma held her breath, looking… searching.

Drew emerged from the gate first, a vision of world-weary fatigue in his trim jeans and black leather jacket. He scanned the crowd until his gaze caught hers. She took a step toward him, feeling an urgent response in her heart that matched the hungry look in his eyes.

He swung his duffel bag up over his shoulder and she saw the white gauze bandage on his wrist. He'd been hurt! Her hesitant step became two bold ones. She pushed through a gathering of well-wishers and froze at the suddenly shuttered look in his eyes.

"Drew?" She mouthed his name.

He turned his head and she followed his gaze. Rafe and Hawk emerged. She smiled, in thanks to each. Then Kel Murphy limped out. He gave her a curt nod. Brodie arrived next. He scooped up BJ when she ran to him and they greeted each other as if they'd been parted for weeks.

And then she saw him.

Lieutenant Colonel Jonathan Ramsey was as tall as she remembered. His shoulders were not quite so broad as they used to be, but he still walked with the erect carriage of a career military man. His dark hair had sprouted silver wings at the temples. And his handsome blue eyes were marred by a bruise and some swelling.

He stopped when he saw her. Drank her in from head to toe. "Emma."

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. Suddenly the distance between them vanished, and she ran into his arms. "Jonathan."

He crushed her mouth beneath his, driving her lips against her teeth, then plunging his tongue inside. It was as if he were trying to recapture five years of loneliness and separation in one single kiss.

Emma shrank from the force of his lips, turning her face away and burying her face in his neck. "I missed you so." She wept against his skin, needing simply to be held. "Welcome home, sweetheart."

"Believe me, it's good to be home." He shifted his hold on her and ran his hands up and down her back. He cupped the curve of her hips, skimmed the swell of her breasts. It was hardly much in the way of comfort, but perhaps after five years of captivity he'd forgotten how to read her silent requests. Once, he'd loved public displays of affection and emotion. Maybe his eagerness to touch and explore her now stemmed from that, a need to publicly proclaim his love for her. But instead of reassuring her, the bold caresses in front of a watchful audience made her feel even more awkward.

She pulled his groping hands down to a neutral position at her waist and backed up a step. She lifted her fingers to frame his face. The cut on his lip and his black eye worried her, but beyond that, he seemed to be in relatively healthy physical condition. More than likely, the scars from his experience would be mental and emotional, buried inside. "You're all right?" she asked.

"I'm in one piece, if that's what you mean." He pulled her hands away but clasped them between their chests. He looked down to study their intertwined fingers before looking back to her. "I spent a long time in a hospital. But I've healed. Much to my surprise, my bill was paid by a man who called himself Moriarty. At first, I agreed to work for him to pay off my debt. But too late, I realized I was being held prisoner instead."

"You didn't call me first?" she asked, crestfallen to learn she hadn't been foremost in his thoughts as he'd been in hers. She immediately apologized. Who knew what he'd been through? Maybe he'd even suffered amnesia for a while, like Drew. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right. I couldn't call you. Moriarty monitored my every move. It wasn't until he put me to work on his computer system that I devised a way to contact you. I don't suppose you’ve sold a bit of stock lately."

"You're behind the stock buys?"

He nodded and smiled proudly. Proud? The Jonathan she knew had been an easygoing, self-effacing man. Comfortable in his own skin, confident in his abilities. But he never had to brag about it. This was not how she'd expected his homecoming to unfold. This was a time for welcomes and loving, not asking questions or raising concerns.

"I worked through his computer network. Thought if I raised enough suspicion, you'd take the hint. I knew I could count on a rescue.”

"What about Stan Begosian and Wyatt Carlisle?"

He shook his head. "I don't know those names."

"But they know James Moriarty. Or knew him. Stan Begosian's dead."

He cupped her shoulders, the hound-dog look he gave urging her to change the subject. "Emma. Sweetheart. All I know is I'm glad to be home after so long."

He pulled her close and kissed her again. She tried valiantly to kiss him back. The Jonathan she knew had been a patient man. He'd always backed off until she felt comfortable with a situation. He'd never pushed her until she was ready to move on. Maybe he'd lost some of that patience after five years.

Unfortunately, she discovered, she needed his patience now more than ever. Flattening her palms on his chest, she pushed him away. She covered the abrupt end of the kiss by turning and reaching for Kerry.

"Here I am, hogging the spotlight," she said, smiling "Come here, sweetie, and say hi to your dad."

With a gentle nudge from Jas, Kerry came forward. She clutched her doll in front of her like a shield and stared up at Jonathan with wide blue eyes. Emma knelt beside her, took Kerry's hand, and extended it toward her father. "Here, sweetie. Remember the pictures? This is your daddy."

As soon as her hand was released, Kerry added it to the grip on her doll. She sidled up next to Emma and hid half her face in the pleats of her mother's skirt. Emma had wondered how this meeting would go. Jonathan was a stranger to Kerry, after all. But she'd counted on a father's love for his little girl to prevail and make this work.

"Hey, there, little lady." Jonathan crossed his arms in front of his chest and winked at Kerry. Then he turned and looked around at their dearest friends. "Say, what does a man have to do to get a square meal around here? Nothing with beans and tortillas. I've eaten enough of those to last me a lifetime."

That was it? A wink and a cute line? A flash of blond hair distracted her from the corner of her eye. Drew had moved from his spot at the fringe of the group and was looking straight at Kerry. Emma urged Jonathan to show Kerry the same interest.

"She's a little shy."

"No problem." He laughed out loud, the old Jonathan laugh. "We'll work it out one of these days."

"Sure," she conceded. "This has been a big day for her, as well as for you and me. Maybe when we get her back into familiar surroundings she'll relax a bit."

"Fine by me." He grabbed Emma's chin and planted another kiss on her lips. "Shall we go home?"

Emma nodded and said a quick, silent prayer. Maybe familiar surroundings would relax her a bit, too. "By all means."

By mutual agreement, the entire entourage of men, spouses, children, and friends moved out to the main concourse and walked toward the parking lot.

Everyone closed around Jonathan. Everyone except Drew. He turned and headed in the opposite direction. Depositing Kerry with Jas, Emma stepped out of the group and cut him off. As before, he stopped when he felt just a touch at his elbow. She faced him now, but struggled to bring her gaze above the collar of his jacket to look him in the eye.

She inhaled a steadying breath and dredged up all her courage to begin this difficult conversation. She raised her chin and got lost in those incredibly unique eyes. "Thank you." She couldn't find the words to say any more until she caught sight of the bandage on his wrist. "You're hurt."

He shrugged off her concern. "Believe me, I've had worse."

"You kept your promise. You brought him home."

The leather of his jacket creaked as he shifted his stance. "I'll send you a bill for my services."

"What?"

"I'd have done it for free, but"—he raked his fingers through his hair, looking as awkward about the discussion of money as she felt—"I don't want you to think you owe me anything."

She frowned. "I owe you everything."

"No." His firm denial skidded along her nerve endings and lodged in a painful place near her heart. "You owe that little girl and yourself a real chance to be happy again. Maybe next time I run into you, you won't look so sad."

"I won't see you again, though, will I." A hotter sheen of tears than those she had shed earlier burned her eyes. She had known it would come to this. Still, she couldn't bear the thought of Drew never being a part of her life. He had come to mean so much to her in such a short time.

"I want you to be happy," he said. A tear spilled free. He reached out and brushed a finger across her cheek, carrying the tear with it. He achieved a smile she could not find in herself. "Take care of the pistol, okay? And that doll of hers, too."

He tucked his fingers behind her ear and cradled her cheek in his palm. A fire glowed, bright and glorious, in his emerald eyes. Then it died out.

"Goodbye, Emma."

She turned to watch him walk away, a lonely figure in black. She blinked the tears from her eyes so she wouldn't miss a single step of his retreating figure. The swing of wheat-blond hair down to his shoulders. The easy stride of that lanky frame. The air of a disconnected soul that hung around him like a cloak.

The hand at her elbow startled her before the voice spoke in her ear. "Everything all right?"

She turned and looked into her husband's cool blue eyes. "He figured out where you were being held."

He glanced at Drew. "Is that so?"

"It's because of him that you're home."

He looked at her. "Then I owe him big-time, don't I?" Jonathan closed his fingers around her arm and pulled her into step beside him. "Frankly, I don't trust the guy."

She wrenched her arm free, reminding him that she was not a woman to be bullied in any way. And her opinion was not to be taken lightly. "I hope you thanked him."

Jonathan sighed heavily, as if he found this conversation tiresome. "C'mon, sweetheart. I want to go home."

He linked his arm through hers, and she walked by his side to catch up with the others. "Home," she repeated, wondering if the joy she had expected to feel upon his return would show itself there. "That sounds good."

She only wished Drew Gallagher had such a place to go to.

* * *

Drew sat in his kitchen, nursing his third beer of the night. Emma wouldn't approve of him drinking so much. Not for three nights straight. But then, Emma wasn't around to care one way or the other how he took care of himself. Or didn't.

He gathered up the cards from the table and shuffled them. He took another swig of beer, saluted the tingle at the center of his forehead that told him he was on the first step to oblivion, then set the bottle away on the edge of the sink.