Distinguished Service & Every Move You Make (Uniformly Hot!) Page 15

  “Thank you.”

  He squinted at her, barely able to hold her back before she wrenched away and nearly ran toward the aisle.

  “Geneva, wait!”

  He moved to give chase when a tree trunk placed itself between him and her in the shape of Darius.

  “Let her go.”

  Mace grit his back teeth together. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll move. Now.”

  “This isn’t about her, Mace,” Dari said quietly, his fingers digging in where he held his shoulder.

  Mace was a breath away from decking him when Dari smiled at someone behind him.

  “Hello, Mrs. Harrison.” He removed his hand and reached around to shake his father’s hand. “Congratulations, Mr. Harrison. Our boy done good, didn’t he?”

  Mace took advantage of the situation to look around, but found that Geneva was long gone, the lingering scent of her perfume where she’d hugged him the only proof that she’d been there at all…

  * * *

  GENEVA WISHED HERSELF one with the darkness when she sat in her apartment much later. She lay on the sofa staring at the ceiling, having cried a million tears and feeling another ten crowding her chest.

  Mace…

  The autumn wind howled outside, rustling the stubborn leaves that remained on the trees and rattling the windows. The same wind had blown Mace into her life…and now it was blowing him back out.

  She didn’t want his pity. And she was convinced that’s what she’d viewed on his face when he’d caught her by the shoulders earlier.

  Pity.

  She’d run as fast as her heels could safely carry her, not stopping until she was inside her apartment where she locked herself away from the world…and him.

  “…he’s going to break your heart…”

  Isn’t that what Trudy had warned her against?

  Isn’t that exactly what was happening?

  She told herself it had been worth it. The time she’d shared with Mace…

  She bit hard on her bottom lip, swallowing the coppery blood that filled her mouth.

  Her cell phone screen lit up where she had it laying face-up on her belly but was otherwise silent and still as per her settings. She knew it would be Mace again.

  His last message had said he knew she was home since her car was in the lot; that he’d be waiting out there until she let him in.

  She hadn’t responded.

  She also hadn’t responded to his other ten voice mails and countless texts telling her he needed to see her, that they needed to talk.

  Why? About what?

  It was over.

  That much was clear.

  And while she might have preferred to spend this last night with him, well, that’s not the way it had worked out.

  She closed her eyes, ignoring the hot tears that seeped through her lashes.

  Had she known… Had she guessed…

  What?

  What would she have done differently?

  She didn’t so much turn onto her side as she did fold, wrapping her arms around herself. So very much had happened in so brief a time. Was it really only three months ago she’d lost her mother? Wasn’t it supposed to get easier?

  She’d never missed her mom more than she did that moment.

  She blinked at the wall, wondering if her mother was somewhere watching her right now. And if she was, what she made of the entire situation. Would she click her tongue as she’d been known to do, indicating Geneva had been a fool? Or would she merely hug her until she couldn’t bear to be hugged any longer?

  She didn’t know. But, oh boy, she wished she did. She wished for the answers she couldn’t seem to find anywhere.

  Geneva caught the brightness of her cell phone screen again, the only source of light in the apartment. She blindly reached for where it had slid onto the couch next to her, blinking several times in an effort to clear her vision as she unlocked the phone and saw there were three text messages waiting.

  She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and held the phone away from her until she could read the words of the first text.

  I should have called you last night…

  A sob wrenched from somewhere deep in her chest.

  Yes, she silently responded to him. You should have called last night.

  Perhaps if he had, none of this would have happened. She might be finding hot comfort in his arms instead of trying to hold herself together with her own.

  Her eyes burned and her entire body ached. She hadn’t eaten or slept since yesterday. This had to get better at some point. Right?

  She rode out the wave then mopped her face with a wad of tissues she grabbed from a box near her head.

  She accessed the next text message.

  I miss you…

  The words wended through her and back again.

  “I miss you, too,” she whispered.

  Surely losing a limb wouldn’t hurt this much. In that one moment, she’d gladly offer one up if she were promised this fathomless pain would stop.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, she understood that the heartache she was currently experiencing bled together with her grief over her mother’s passing, but it was impossible to see where one left off and the other began so it became one massive ball of emotion threatening to suffocate her.

  Only her mother was gone; and Mace was still here…

  She absently ran the pad of her thumb over the keypad again, keeping the backlight on so she could read the three words.

  Tomorrow, he would be on that transport out…

  And she could begin healing.

  Tonight… Well, tonight, knowing he was so close and wanted to see her…

  She accessed the third text message.

  I love you.

  No fair…

  She burst into tears and turned her head into the pillow, wishing the pain away, wishing the next month away, wishing him away…

  * * *

  MACE PACED BACK AND FORTH in front of his parked rental car outside Geneva’s apartment building, checking his cell phone every five seconds and staring up at her dark windows. He was still in his dress blues, although he’d taken off the belt and unbuttoned the coat. The night was cold, the wind biting, but he was unaware of both as he moved, his mind on one thing and one thing only—Geneva.

  All he could see was the image of her tear-filled eyes the last time he’d seen her.

  Damn.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  The idea he’d hurt her ripped his guts to shreds.

  She deserved better. Especially from him.

  Still, he’d unwittingly caused her pain he was afraid he’d never be able to ease.

  He restlessly checked his cell again. Nothing.

  He rounded his car and stared at where hers was parked a few spots up on the opposite side of the lot. Had someone picked her up?

  No.

  She was there.

  He was sure of it.

  Then why wasn’t she answering him?

  He could only imagine what was going through her mind, what she must be thinking. About why he hadn’t contacted her last night or this morning…

  Still, there was no need for tears.

  Was there?

  Damn it. He hated not knowing what he’d done.

  He hated even more that whatever he had done had caused her one iota of pain.

  He rounded his car again and resumed pacing, his steps quick, his black dress shoes clicking against the asphalt.

  What was he talking about? He was leaving tomorrow. And the minute he did, their agreement would reach an end.

  He stopped. Is that what this was? Was she ending things early? Calling a halt before it went to
o far?

  He thought of his last text.

  Damn it all to hell. This had evolved into far more than a simple agreement.

  How stupid was he? He should have known he wouldn’t be able to keep his emotions out of it. Look how badly Janine had hurt him. And he’d gone into that with his eyes wide open.

  And Geneva?

  He imagined her tears again and felt like shouting, hitting something, anything to release the pressure threatening to turn him inside out.

  Today had been one of the longest of his life. After absolutely no sleep, he’d gotten up and run ten miles before finally showering and attending a ceremony he had zero interest in participating in. Even now, the medal was sitting on his passenger seat, little more than a piece of tin to him.

  Marcus…

  He tilted his head up and closed his eyes. His brother was the hero—not him.

  “Still running after me, little bro?” he could almost hear Marcus say.

  The familiar hands—phantom digits that had curiously been missing the past few days—returned to their rightful place around his neck.

  He had spent so much of his childhood trying to catch up with his older brother he lost his breath just thinking about it. Marcus was the one everyone looked up to, talked about, while he was the one they patted on the head and told him how lucky he was to have such a great brother.

  No one had prepared him for what life would be like when his brother died.

  If Marcus had been an ever-evasive shadow in life, in death…well, now he’d never be able to catch up.

  He winced at the selfish thought.

  Damn it. He hated feeling this way. He hated not being able to think of his brother without a deep sense that he was lacking, would never make the grade. He wanted to remember him with fondness.

  It had taken meeting with Janine last night to remind him how deep his feelings went.

  And to realize what she’d really been after.

  He’d stepped into The Barracks to find the place still packed…and his ex-girlfriend sitting at the end of the bar staring at her cell phone. Waiting for a response from him? He didn’t think so. Still, he’d gone and taken the stool next to her.

  Her surprised expression had almost been worth the trouble.

  Almost.

  Janine Johnson had always been an attractive woman. Naturally platinum blond, tall, willowy. Problem was, she knew the value of her good looks…and that devalued them as she used them to push forward whatever objective she put her mind to, whether it was earning a promotion at her job as a sales associate, talking her way out of a speeding ticket…or seducing him out of looking a little too closely at her.

  As closely as he was looking at her now.

  They’d talked a bit about everything. He’d bought her another drink but had stuck to his one beer limit then asked to pay his tab.

  Janine had cleared her throat. “So this medal thing tomorrow…”

  He’d grimaced as he peeled off the money to cover his bill.

  “What?” she’d said. “Tell me you aren’t pleased.”

  “I’m not pleased.”

  “Why? It’s a great honor. One I’m sure you earned.”

  He’d stared at her.

  “Wait. Don’t tell me. This is about Marcus, isn’t it? Again.”

  “I’ve got to be going.”

  “Wait.” She’d put her hand on his arm.

  He’d stiffened, waiting to see what she’d do next.

  She’d taken a deep breath and smiled. “I’m sorry. I really don’t want to dig up old skeletons.” She’d lightly rubbed his arm. “Partly because I have one or two of my own I’d prefer not to see again.” She’d dropped her gaze. “Mostly because I’m hoping we can bury them for good and head out for new ground.”

  She’d blinked up at him.

  Mace had found it incredible to think such tactics had worked on him before. But they had, hadn’t they? Because he hadn’t anything else with which to compare them? The image of Geneva’s genuine smile and warmth loomed large in his mind.

  Yeah, he was thinking that was the reason.

  And now that he did have something, someone fundamentally more meaningful, well, Janine didn’t measure up. Not just because of what she’d done, but because of who she was.

  “I’ve got to go,” he’d said.

  “Come on,” she’d said, an angry edge to her voice. “I deserve to be on your arm when you accept that award tomorrow, not that mousy waitress you’ve been hanging around with…”

  He’d known such a moment of blind anger, it had been all he could do to remain speechless as he purposefully removed her hand from his arm, picked up his jacket and turned toward the door.

  “You know what, Mace? You’re right. You’re never going to be as good as your brother. You never really knew what to do with a catch like me. But I bet he would have…”

  The door had closed on her words, making them the final ones he ever intended to hear from her.

  A car rolled up and a flashlight was focused on him, making him aware that he still stood below Geneva’s apartment windows.

  Geneva…

  He couldn’t ever envision her thinking the type of venomous words Janine had uttered—who had done who wrong, anyway?—much less saying them.

  However, he did have Janine to thank for one thing: making him realize he was competing against a ghost.

  He probably always had been.

  “Can I help you?” a male voice asked abruptly.

  Mace grimaced and looked back up at Geneva’s windows, wondering if she was looking out one of them even as he spoke to the security guard.

  “I’m waiting for a friend to let me up.”

  “And that friend would be…?”

  “Geneva Davis.”

  “Ah. Yes.”

  The flashlight was removed and then just as quickly, it turned on him again.

  “Hey, wait, that makes you Mace Harrison then.”

  Mace’s jaw tightened. “Yeah.”

  He’d come across his fair share of information seekers in the wake of the Norman incident. Police and security officers tended to be some of the most annoying because they not only wanted details, they wanted to share how they would have handled the situation.

  It looked like this guy fell solidly into that category.

  And he had neither the time nor the patience for it right now.

  He only wanted to talk to Geneva.

  He checked his cell phone again.

  Nothing.

  The security guard was talking about having seen the two attempts on Norman’s life on TV when Mace decided to walk to his car. He waved a hand and said, “Sorry, I must be wrong. She’s not home. I’ll try again later. Good night.”

  The officer blinked at him then offered a surprised greeting in return, backing up to allow him exit.

  Mace took it, trying like hell to figure out what he should do. Or if, in fact, there was anything he could do…

  His cell phone rang.

  He nearly hit a parked vehicle in his rush to retrieve it from the passenger’s seat where he’d tossed it.

  “Hello, Geneva?”

  “No. It’s Dari, Mace. I’ve got some information you might be interested in knowing…”

  25

  6:00 A.M.

  Geneva’s cell alarm went off, loud enough to wake her. But she wasn’t asleep. She still lay on the couch, in the dark, dawn still a ways away.

  Mace even farther.

  Right now he was on his transport out.

  She hadn’t heard from him after his final text last night. Those last three words would remain with her always. Words she felt and returned with all her heart.

 
I love you.

  He was gone.

  She’d expected the knowledge to somehow make her feel better; now the healing could begin. It didn’t. Instead she felt oddly…numb. Empty. Not just like a gas tank that could be refilled, but hollow, the space gaping wide and exposed to the elements.

  She looked down at where she rubbed her belly, issuing a silent apology to the life growing within her. She’d been impulsive and selfish and was now paying the price. It would have been fine had she been the only one affected. But she wasn’t. Not anymore.

  She told herself she should get up, eat something, make an effort to rejoin the land of the living. But she couldn’t seem to find the energy to do more than stare at the ceiling and hope the coming sunrise would help her do what she needed to do. Which was go on…

  * * *

  HE HAD HIS MAN…

  Mace stood on the other side of the interrogation room watching as Thomas Michael Newsome sat back in the uncomfortable chair, looking a little too comfortable in his handcuffs and leg shackles.

  Then again, he should, shouldn’t he? Because this wasn’t the first time Newsome had found himself in such a situation. And he didn’t think it would be the last.

  “Attorney,” the twenty-nine-year-old with a covert military-op résumé as thick as Mace’s penis said.

  “9/11,” Mace answered, meaning in the wake of the tragic event, local law enforcement could brand a suspect as a possible terrorist and hold him for as long as they wanted.

  Despite Dari’s recommendation to leave the Norman incidents behind and allow law enforcement to take it from there, he’d acted on the information he recovered from the motel room. Calls had been returned, more specifically, Lazarus partner and old friend Lincoln Williams had contacted Dari with the information he was looking for. Being connected with military intelligence and the FBI, Linc could tap into resources others couldn’t.

  In this case, the reason why Newsome’s prints hadn’t turned up on any nationwide criminal database wasn’t because he’d never been arrested, but because he was a military gun for hire and some powers-that-be intended to keep his misdeeds covered so they could use him at will.