Authors: Sandra Hill
“In the vein of nothing ventured, nothing gained
. . .” Trond scrambled to stand up with dignity, then flexed his
fingers nervously.
Good grief! Now I’m quoting motivational
sayings.
“I was wondering what exactly is the penance allotted for
near-sex?” He wouldn’t even bother to ask about full-blown, up-to-her-womb,
screaming sex with a woman. The answer would no doubt scare him spitless, or was
that sinless?
When he got no answer, Trond glanced sideways and
saw that Mike was gone, leaving only a single white feather in his wake.
At the same time, Cage walked in, a towel wrapped
around his middle, preparatory to taking his own shower. “Hey, Easy! Who you
talking to in here?”
Trond twirled the feather between his thumb and
forefinger and said, “Just myself.”
Angel to the rescue . . .
N
icole dreamed that night, and her dreams starred Guess Who?
Men got their satisfaction in wet dreams. Hers were hot and very unsatisfying. Thus, she was tired and cranky and no way ready for the voice mail she received from Commander MacLean after breakfast, just before heading to the command center for the first briefing of the day.
“Lieutenant Tasso: A woman named Cyndee Walsh is trying to reach you. Claims to be an old friend. Says it’s important. Here’s her number.”
Oh my God! She hadn’t talked with Cyndee for years, despite their having been next-door neighbors and best friends from grade school. In fact, Cyndee had been the only one who’d halfway believed her reports about Billy’s abuse.
When Nicole had left Chicago, she’d cut off ties with everyone, fearing Billy would come after her. Later, when she’d become stronger and able to stand up to bullies like her ex-husband, she’d still kept her distance, not wanting anyone she contacted to suffer for association with her. As far as she knew, her dad was still on the force.
She sank down on a bench under a palm tree facing the beach. With heart thumping, she hesitated, then placed the call.
“Cyndee?”
“Nic, is that you?” She squealed, just as she had all through high school.
Nicole smiled, pleased that some things didn’t change. “Holy cow! Cyndee Walsh! How are you?”
“I’m fine, but it’s Cyndee Dillon now,” she said. “Brad and I got married last year.
Finally.
”
Regret swept through Nicole in waves . . . regret that she hadn’t even known that her onetime best friend had married. “I didn’t know about the wedding, but, hey, it’s about time. You two have been making googly eyes at each other since second grade.”
“We still do.”
“That’s nice,” Nicole said, and she meant it. “Remember the time in fourth grade when you socked him in the belly for sharing his baloney sandwich with Meg Kelly?”
“It wasn’t baloney,” Cyndee said with a laugh, “it was salami, and I’ve been reminding him of that ever since. Whenever he does something wrong, I bring it up again. He just doesn’t understand how we women hold on to things.”
And wasn’t that the truth. Bad deeds had an eternal shelf life. Women might forgive the sins of their lovers, but they never forgot. “Oh, Cyndee, it’s so good talking to you again. I’ve missed you.”
She could hear the catch in Cyndee’s voice when she said, “I would have invited you . . . heck, you were supposed to be my maid of honor, but I couldn’t find a current address. Even your mother doesn’t know.”
If she’d told her mother, her mother would have told her father, and he in turn probably would have informed Billy. While seven years had gone by, Nicole couldn’t be absolutely sure Billy wouldn’t still seek retaliation. His fury at her leaving him—desertion, he’d considered it in his warped mind—had been monumental. It wasn’t that she was afraid of him now. It was just that she’d put that part of her life behind her.
She wouldn’t have gone back to Chicago for Cyndee’s wedding, but she would have cherished the invitation. Cyndee had been maid of honor at Nicole’s wedding to Billy. She should have been able to return the favor.
“As it is, I practically had to sign my life away with some commander named MacLean to get a message to you.” Cyndee was still talking while Nicole’s mind had wandered. “Where are you, Nic? I mean, I know you’re in California, and you’re in some kind of hotshot female SEAL program. There was that feature story in
USA Today
about all those women warriors.”
Ah! That blasted newspaper article.
When given permission to do the article, the reporter had promised not to use names or clear pictures of any of the women. Unfortunately, she and two other women had been front and center.
“Billy made fun of that story down at the station, by the way. Said it must be a troop of dykes.”
“He would. The jerk!” It wouldn’t have mattered what Nicole had done after she’d left him. He honestly believed she couldn’t succeed at anything without him.
“You got that right. He considers himself the Irish stallion, but he’s more like a horse’s ass. You have no idea . . . well, I guess you do.”
The fine hairs stood out on the back of Nicole’s neck, as she wondered, despite herself, what else he’d done.
“Did you ever marry again?” Cyndee asked.
“Nope.”
“Is there someone special in your life?”
For some reason, Trond’s face popped into her head. He was special to her, all right. Special trouble. “Nope. No one.”
“I bet there are lots of opportunities, though. I’ve seen some of those SEALs on TV, and they are pure hunks.”
“Some are,” she agreed. “Cyndee, you told Commander MacLean that it was important that you reach me.”
She could actually hear Cyndee inhale deeply, as if for courage. “It’s Billy.”
Silence followed.
Maybe if she said nothing, she wouldn’t have to know what the brute had done now.
Maybe it had nothing to do with her.
Maybe she was behaving in a cowardly fashion.
“What is it, Cyn? What about the bastard?”
“He’s dating your sister.”
At first, Nicole’s brain couldn’t comprehend what Cyndee had said. She’d even had to think,
What sister?
Then, “No! Teresa? No way! She’s just a kid.”
“She’s eighteen, Nic, and she thinks he walks on water.”
“Are you kidding me?” She was stunned, unable to grasp how this could have happened. Oh, she knew Billy could charm the skin off a snake if he wanted to. When she’d left him at age twenty-one, Teresa had been only eleven, but she had bawled endlessly and berated Nicole for being a bad girl for running around with other men. That was the story Billy had put forth for the breakup of their marriage.
If she had any regrets over her new life, or guilt, it was over Teresa. The other people she’d cut out of her life had been adults and mostly deserving of the cut, except for Cyndee. But Teresa had been a kid. She’d done nothing. And she was Nicole’s sister. She tried to understand why she’d failed to contact Teresa the last few years, once she was firmly on her feet, and the only explanation she’d been able to come up with was that when she’d decided to have a new life, she’d somehow interpreted that to mean a
totally
new life. Now, she wondered if she’d been wrong.
“Does he love her?” Nicole asked suddenly.
“I don’t know.”
“Not that it matters. He claimed to be in love with me, and look what happened.” Cyndee had been with Nicole the one time when she’d gone to a private clinic to set a broken arm and three cracked ribs.
“He acts more like a big brother around her, at least in public.”
“He’s ten years older than Teresa,” Nicole said with a snort of disgust.
“That’s not so much difference today,” Cyndee said.
“Are you defending him?”
“Of course not. I called you, didn’t I? Besides, Brad said that I had to at least make an attempt to let you know.”
“Brad?” That was surprising news.
“He never disbelieved you, Nic, but he felt as if he was caught in the middle, being on the force with Billy and all.”
Yeah, well, where had Brad been when she’d tried to file charges? She didn’t say that, though. “What’s different now?”
“He’s seen things.”
Nicole waited for Cyndee to elaborate but she didn’t. Loyalty to her husband, no doubt. She couldn’t blame her for that.
“I wiped my hands of the brute when I left him. He has nothing to do with me now.”
But what about Teresa? She has something to do with me. Doesn’t she? Damn, damn, damn, here comes the guilt train.
“Teresa is young. Maybe she’ll get bored with an older guy, and—”
“They’re getting married.”
Nicole groaned. This was bad. Really bad. “Mom should be the one to put a stop to this. She knows what he did to me, and even if she did nothing to protect me, she would surely prevent it from happening to a second child.”
“Your mother has stage three breast cancer. With the chemo and radiation, she doesn’t have much energy for anything other than staying alive.”
“Oh, Cyndee! No one told me.”
“Can’t you come home and talk to your sister?”
“Number one, Chicago has not been my home for a long time. Number two, I doubt Teresa would listen to me if she’s under Billy’s spell.”
On the other hand, how can I not try? Oh jeez, I don’t know.
“What if he’s doing this as revenge against me? It would be just like him to lay that kind of guilt trip on me.”
“Or maybe he’s trying to lure you back to Chicago to hurt you in some way,” Cyndee mused. “That’s one reason I hesitated. Call me crazy, but women have been murdered by their ex-husbands for less.”
Actually, that wasn’t crazy at all. Oh, Nicole had absolute confidence in her ability to defend herself today. But bullies didn’t play fair. They close-fisted defenseless women when they weren’t looking. “When is the wedding?”
“Not till Christmas, but I heard she’s already ordered her gown, and they reserved the Veterans’ Hall for the reception.”
The same Veterans’ Hall where my reception was held? Taaaacky! Or sick?
Well, at least that gave her a few months to decide what to do, if anything. She could go into this mission with a clear head, no personal baggage hanging over her head. When she returned from Afghanistan, she would request a liberty of at least a week. Maybe. And go to Chicago to talk some sense into Teresa. Maybe.
“I’ll see what I can do, Cyndee. And thanks so much for calling me. Let’s keep in touch from now on.”
“Absolutely. If you decide not to come, and I can understand why you wouldn’t, maybe Brad and I could come to California sometime for a vacation. Of course we’d have to bring the baby with us.”
“Cyndee! You have a baby?”
“Yep. Wanna know her name?”
“Of course. And give me your address so I can send a gift.”
“It’s Anna Nicole Dillon. We call her Nicky.”
Nicole made a small whimpering sound. How many emotional surprises could she stand today? “Oh, Cyndee! I’m honored.”
After they said their final good-byes, Nicole turned off her cell phone. No surprise that tears were welling in her eyes. That seemed to be the norm for her lately. For some reason, the image of the strange man in the chapel yesterday came to mind, and she was reminded that not everything in her past had been bad. There had been her good friend Cyndee, and now a baby . . . Nicole’s namesake.
Before she had a chance to change her mind, she turned her cell phone on again and tapped in a number that hadn’t changed for more than two decades.
After five rings, a weak female voice came on the line. “Hello.”
At first, Nicole couldn’t speak over the lump in her throat. “Mom?”
The only response was weeping and then loud sobs before her mother got herself under control. “Nicole?”
“Yeah, Mom, it’s me.”
“I prayed for this, my darling. I didn’t want to die before hearing from you.”
“I should have called, but I wasn’t sure you wanted . . . well, you know what Dad said when I left.”
“You’re still our daughter. You’re still my baby.”
“I heard that you’ve been ill.”
“I’m getting better. The chemo makes me weak, though.”
“I wish I could be there for you.”
“Your call is enough. I don’t think your father is ready for . . . well, you know how he is.”
So, nothing was different. Dad ruled. Mom submitted. Nicole was still not welcome. She’d shamed the family.
“I’m calling because I heard about Teresa and Billy. Oh, Mom, you can’t really—”
“Who’s that you’re talking to? Why are you crying?” she heard a male voice demand in the background.
“It’s a wrong number,” her mother said and hung up.
Nicole listened to the dial tone for a moment. She was stunned to be cut off so abruptly, despite a family history that should have forewarned her. In the scheme of things, she was not a top priority. Not to her mother, who wanted peace at any cost. Not to her father, who demanded obedience, even at the cost to his daughter. And Teresa . . . who knew how her sister would feel after all these years?
What should she do? Just wipe her hands of the lot of them? Or go back to the town she’d vowed never to step foot in again to save her sister?
Well, she couldn’t decide anything today. After she was back from this op, God willing, by mid-September at the latest, she would examine all the alternatives, perhaps make a few more phone calls, decide what to do, if anything. For now, she had to somehow shove it all to the back of her mind and focus on the mission at hand. Her job.
“Nicole, what’s wrong?”
She glanced up to see the last person she wanted to talk to at the moment. Trond Sigurdsson.
“Nothing.” She turned her head away from him.
“Nothing?” He sat down beside her, eyebrows raised in skepticism, and handed her a clean handkerchief that he pulled from the pocket of his cargo shorts. Like her, he would be going to the command center for the first meeting of the day in fifteen minutes.
She blew her nose loudly and swiped at her eyes. “I was just talking to my mother.”
“And she made you cry?”
“I wasn’t crying. I never cry.” Hardly. Not till recently.
“Weep then?”
She glared at him.
“Get blurry eyeballed?”
She almost laughed.
“Tell me what happened, Nicole. I know that I annoy you on occasion.” Seeing the expression on her face, he added, “All the time, then, but I can be a good listener. I’ve been told that talking about a problem helps, not that I know that personally.” As an afterthought, he added, “Or so my gay lovers say.” He took one of her hands in his and linked their fingers together.
She should have pulled away, but oddly, she did not, and just that clasp of skin on skin felt right somehow. That’s probably why she spoke of something she never told anybody.
“I was married for three years. I left my abusive bastard of an ex-husband seven years ago. Now, he’s about to marry my younger sister, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Abusive?” he said slowly, his brow furrowed with confusion. “Are you saying that you were physically harmed by this man?”