Heroes In Uniform (43 page)

He threw an I-don’t-buy-that-for-a-second grin, then took her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Let’s do this. Move your cute ass.”

They opened their car doors and jumped out of Cash’s new jacked-up, black Rubicon. She liked it. It fit his personality. He said it’d do in a pinch, whatever that meant. The tires practically came up to her hip bone, and she stared at the front one until he came around the hood and took her hand in his again.

Roman’s truck was parked at the top of the driveway. So he was here first. Good. If they were angry at her, he may have calmed them down. How would she feel if her daughter walked away for ten years? Anger might be tops on that list, but when she’d talked to them on the phone, they were anything but angry. More like better than thrilled. Happier than elated. So why the butterflies?

Each step toward the imposing front door felt heavier than the last. She couldn’t breathe. She needed to practice that whole inhale, exhale thing, maybe sit on the front stoop, trying to re-master that skill set. But her parents were expecting her. Hell, they’d expected her since she called home to explain she’d been swept into witness protection then the CIA.

And here she was, on the front steps, unsure.

The red door swung open. Her beaming mom—with teary eyes and a smile spread wide across her face—had her arms outstretched. Dad stood close behind. He was still huge and commanding, with warmth plastered on his face that made Nicola cringe in an emotional ache.

Nicola’s feet stopped moving. Her legs were made of cinder blocks, her arms cemented in place. The only things she could feel were pain and shame and… Cash’s hand. She couldn’t focus. Somehow Cash moved them toward her parents, and they took over.

Hugs and kisses. Words, certainly, but she couldn’t make heads or tails of them because of the fierce sobs racking her body.

“I’m so sorry.” She repeated it over and over, feeling less like a woman in her thirties and more like a child.

Wrapped in warm arms, one of them smoothing her hair, another holding her tightly, the pain began to ebb. There was shushing and murmuring. But the only thought she had was how strong their love was. Their forgiveness, too.

She wasn’t worthy. But everything they did communicated that was exactly what she was.

Blinking and wiping away the tear streaks, Nicola took a deep breath. Then another. Until she could inhale and exhale. Her chest felt lighter. The weight of her ice-cold guilt melted.

Her mom grasped her by the shoulders. “We love you.”

“And we understand,” her father tacked on.

All she could do was nod, knocked over again by the emotional blow. The tears started again. Her sight blurred.

“None of that now. This is a happy day,” her mom said, wiping at her eyes. Her dad nodded.

They smiled. Really, truly smiled. She couldn’t feel any hatred toward their lying daughter. She didn’t see it in their expressions. They simply held her.

Roman walked outside, stood next to Cash, and she tried for a weak smile. It came easier than she’d expected.

“Why don’t you bring this whole thing inside before the neighbors get too nosy,” Roman suggested, then laughed. “Nic always could make a big entrance.”

Then she did smile without having to try, and she laughed, loving her brother more in that moment than she ever had.

“All right. In, in.” Her mother shooed everyone in the door, keeping an arm wrapped around her, directing her to the living room. “I hope you’re hungry, angel.”

Angel.
She’d never thought she’d hear her mom call her nickname again.

The house smelled delicious and familiar. Nicola sighed, sitting on the same couch in the same spot as always. Cash settled down beside her, an arm thrown over her shoulder. For a second, her stomach jumped. Her parents didn’t know about her and Cash. Not before, and she wasn’t sure how to define them now, other than that they were a
they
.

Her overprotective father didn’t bounce a sideways glance when he kicked back across from her.

In the background, she heard Roman rifling through the pantry, asking their mother where the snacks were. It all felt so normal.

Mom brought dad and Cash beers and Nic an orange juice, knowing that she would need her odd comfort drink. She’d drunk gallons of OJ with her mom over the years, rehashing teenage drama.

“Thanks, mom.”

Roman walked in, beer and dip in hand, potato chips under an arm.

“So CIA, Nicky?” Dad always called her Nicky. Drove her crazy until right now. He looked proud.

Nodding, she tried to think of what to say. “Yeah—”

“Little sister’s a spy. Who’d a thunk it?” Roman laughed, stuffing chips and dip in at the same time. “And from what I’ve seen, she could give James Bond a run for his money.”

“Double-Oh-Seven here can shoot and fight with the big boys,” Cash said, giving her a squeeze.

The guys were bragging on her. Not what she’d expected and her cheeks heated.

“Well, as long as you’re safe, angel. That’s what I tell the boys as well. The three of you are safe out there, right?”

Roman, Cash, and Nicola all nodded some version of, “yes ma’am, yes mom, you got it.” Mom smiled ear to ear.

“Dinner’s ready in twenty minutes. Roman, don’t ruin your appetite. Nicola Beatrice, would you join me in the kitchen?”

Uh-oh. Breaking out the middle name. She was in trouble. No one else seemed to notice as a football appeared out of nowhere, soaring across the living room, and her mom didn’t give her a chance to wiggle out of that request. Nicola walked the familiar path to the kitchen, hearing the same floorboard creak as it had so long ago.

“Why don’t you make the salad?” Her mom pointed to everything lined up on the counter.

“I can do that.” This had been planned, but she was okay with it. The lineup of incoming questions made her nervous, but better to stay busy with her hands than fidget with her shirt.

“Thanks. So I’m going to skip all the boring and sad stuff and skip to you and Cash. That okay with you, angel?”

Nicola choked, spilling all the cherry tomatoes she had lined up to split, salt, and pepper. “Cash?” Her voice squeaked. Yeah. That wasn’t a dead giveaway of anything hot and heavy.

Rolling her eyes, her mom laughed. “All right. We can dredge up years of missing—”

“I can talk Cash. I ran into Cash and Roman—”

“Angel, I know that already. You think either of those boys can keep a secret?”

Guess not.

Her mom smiled. “The more I feed them, the more they talk. It’s the only way I’ve stayed sane knowing what they run all over the world doing. I’ve also known the two of you have circled each other from afar since you were—honest to God—believers in cooties. And now, he’s holding your hand. Arm around the shoulder. Clearly, cooties aren’t a problem anymore.”

Nic knew her cheeks blazed bright pink. “You noticed?”

“I notice everything. Mothers always do.”

“What about fathers? Do you think dad, um, noticed?”

Her mom laughed. “Maybe. Do you like him?”

“Of course I like him, mom. It’s Cash.”

“Do you love him?”

“Mom!” Nic’s eyes bugged out like she was in the twelfth grade again.

“You know, before everything happened,” her mom gestured to the window. Her dad, Roman, and Cash were outside tossing a football with one hand, nursing their beers in the other. “Cash had called your father. Wanted to talk to us. Without Roman or you there.”

Silence.
I had a ring.
His voice echoed in her head. She hadn’t doubted him when he threw that jab at her, but—

“Know anything about that?” Her mom cocked an eyebrow, smiling like she knew a secret. “Keep chopping, angel. We have hungry men to feed.”

Nicola stared out the window instead and let her mom remove the knife and salad makings. She watched them in the backyard. Laughing and roughhousing. Cash threw the ball, spun round, and caught sight of her through the glass.

They locked eyes, and her stomach jumped when his half-grin and a half-nod were directed her way. He’d been her best friend her whole life. He was more gorgeous than any man walking the face of the Earth. And here he was, making her tummy flip.

The football hit the side of his head, and Roman cheered his direct hit. She laughed. Cash laughed before he turned and speared her brother, football in hand. Dad laughed. Everything felt like it should.

The doorbell rang. Somewhere in the background, she heard her mother fussing for a hand towel, wiping her hands on the way to answer the front door. Nicola was mesmerized, watching her family. Being home—

Chk-chck
.

And just that fast, the unmistakable sound of a pump-action shotgun dumped an ice bath on her warm-and-fuzzy worldview. She palmed a steak knife from the kitchen island, slid to the wall, and listened.

A floorboard creaked. She knew that floorboard, knew every one that creaked and groaned, thanks to years of sneaking out with Cash and Roman. Nic looked out the window. The men were back to their casual game of drink-and-toss, shooting the shit.

She rounded the corner and knew that knife wouldn’t be worth the silver it was plated with if her hearing was right. And she had no doubt it was. Tucking the steak knife into the back of her shorts, she had only one more corner—

“Jackson?” She was struck completely dumb.

He turned toward her, pivoting
her
Remington 870 Super Magnum pump action away from her mom.
Thank God.

“Nicola, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You haven’t been home in days.”

Jackson looked delirious and smelled like booze. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. He hadn’t shaved in at least a day and his clothes were… tactical.

“Here I am, Jacks. Why don’t you slip the safety back on that baby, and we can go for a walk?”

“Not yet. Is Cash here?” he asked, so calm and casual that the hairs on the back of her neck did the wave.

“I think this is between you and me. Whatever it is—”

“This is your mom?” He sounded desperate and distant.

How to answer this one… “Jackson, listen to me—”

He swung his gaze to her mom, but thankfully kept the shotgun aimed at her. “I’m Jackson Dale. You must be Mrs. Garr—” He took a step from her mom and sliced a glance to Nic. “Wait, I don’t even you know your real last name. How is this possible? How could you do this to me?”

Her mom spoke up. “You can call me Janet.”

Jackson smiled at her, but his eyes didn’t focus. “It’s nice to meet you, Janet. You have such a lovely house.”

“Thank you, Jackson,” she said, her face pale and eyes wide. “I’d love to have you join us for dinner. But I do have a strict no guns in the house rule.”

“Nic and I aren’t staying.”

Good. She could get him the hell out of the house and that gun away from her mother. “Jacks is right, mom. We’ve gotta go.”

The stench of sweat and liquor overpowered the room. He lowered the weapon slightly but kept a finger on the trigger. She knew how ultra-sensitive that trigger was. A slight breeze on the right setting would slip it to fast action.

“Let’s go. Nice to meet you, Janet.”

The back door opened and slammed shut. Grumbling and laughing male voices overwhelmed the house.

Damn it, she was so close. “Jacks. Come on.”

Roman called out from the kitchen, cabinet doors opening and closing. “Mom, we’re starvin’.”

Jackson’s eyes darted toward the voices. His voice slurred. “Who’s that?”

“Just my family, Jacks. No one who needs—”

Cash and Roman both rounded the corner and cursed. Her dad slammed into the twosome when they pulled up short.

Jackson leveled the shotgun on the men and pleaded. “He’s here. Nic, you didn’t say Cash was here. Nic, why didn’t you tell me? Nic?” With a pendulum swing, Jackson swayed unsteadily, the shotgun now aimed at her. “Nicola?”

All hell was about to break loose. She could feel it. She didn’t know which way it was coming from first, but they all teetered on the edge of disaster and watched to see who jumped first.

Nicola drilled her eyes to Jackson, mentally pleading with him. In her peripheral vision, Roman, Cash, and Dad flicked glances past her and Jackson. Another round of hair-raising gut instinct took over.

Crash.

The rush came before she even heard it. Nic wasn’t sure what her body was doing, but trusted her training. Everything else was in slow motion. Glass shattered from the windows. Roman grabbed their mother, tossing her to Dad. Cash grabbed Jackson. Nic jumped out of the way but was knocked down. Definite yelling, definite firings. The sting and burn of glass exploding scrambled her senses.

And when she tried to look up, she saw the red. Everything burned. Her nose ran, eyes running. Cash had her on her feet now. What the hell was going on? But she couldn’t stand on her own, that much she knew. Her face. Her arm was on fire.
Help me.

Garrison’s Creed
: Chapter Thirty

Everything burned. Nothing made sense. The only thing that kept her from screaming was that
she
was hurt. Not her parents. Not her brother. Not Cash. Nicola could deal with her pain. No one else’s though. She’d brought enough hurt home already.

Hands touched her face. Damn it. “Stings… Burns.”
And smells?

“Get her to the bathroom.” A woman, not her mother, ordered.

The dizzy spin in her head was confusing. Who all was there? Cash’s strong hands lifted her. She knew the feel of his touch, the definition of his chest. Even if she couldn’t open her eyes, she knew Cash’s arms.

“What is that stuff?” Now that was definitely her mom. She sounded concerned, not hurt. But damn if she didn’t want to concern her mom ever again.

Her dad mumbled something.

The snap of her mom’s voice followed them. “Obviously, not the blood. That stuff. It’s everywhere.”

A cold cloth pressed to her face, wiping over and over. Slowly, the boiling sensation on her skin plateaued. Didn’t stop, but became bearable.

“Drink this.” It was Cash. He held a glass to her lips, then spoke to someone else. “No. Don’t call for an ambulance. I’m driving.”