Always a Warrior(58)
Yes, he had lied to her and used her to complete his mission but at four in the morning, that fact did not seem to matter. Maybe in the light of day the sense of betrayal might return but for the moment, it was not important. She only wanted him with her.
“Why?” she whispered in the dark of her bedroom. “Why?”
But, uncertain of the exact questions, she had no real answers. She rolled over again, punched her pillow, and tried to force herself to sleep. Slumber finally stole over her but her dreams were filled with images of Damien and terrorists.
Her subconscious sent her back to the cabin, to that last night, and into Damien’s arms.
But in reliving those days, she soon found herself once again behind the tree at the edge of the terrorist camp. The scene took on the eerie, tilted-camera quality of a horror movie. In slow motion, she carefully aimed the rifle at the maniacally grinning terrorist sneaking up on Damien.
She squeezed the trigger. The action slowed to a crawl and she saw the bullet slice the air. But to her absolute horror, it missed the target and the terrorist fired.
“No!” That ragged denial shrieked into her brain as Damien fell behind the jeep.
Fierce screams assaulted her ears and jerked her into her dark bedroom. She was drenched in sweat and tangled in the bedclothes. The furious sobbing screams went on until she realized she heard only her own voice echoing in the room. She clamped her mouth shut and lay trembling in the dim light of early dawn, her heart pounding frantically in her chest. Gasping she sat up straight and pressed a fist to her heart.
Small feet pounded down the hall and her bedroom door flew open. Wide-eyed with fright, Stacy burst into the room.
“What’s wrong, Mommy?”
Struggling with the lingering vivid effects of the nightmare, Laurie drew Stacy into the bed with her.
“Nothing, honey—just a bad dream.” She tried to steady her voice. It wasn’t easy. The nightmare had been so real, so vivid.
“About those bad people?” Stacy asked anxiously, snuggling close.
Smothering a tired yawn, Laurie nodded and hugged her daughter tight. “It’s okay now.
It’s just a bad dream.”
“I wish Damien was here,” Stacy said sleepily. “He got them before. If he was here they’d never come back.”
“They won’t come back,” Laurie asserted as she settled Stacy under the covers with her.
“We’re safe, sweetheart.”
“I wish Damien was here.” Stacy yawned widely and fell silent, asleep again.
So do I, Laurie thought tiredly, so do I.
* * * *
ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening
85
Monday morning, just a few days later, Laurie sent Stacy to kindergarten on the bus. In an effort to make things normal again, she retreated to her office upstairs. She needed to finish the final draft of her current manuscript, started before terrorists and Damien interrupted her routine. The cursor blinked at her form the middle of the page depicted on her computer screen but, her heart heavy with longing, she could not concentrate.
The shrill peal of the doorbell pierced the haze of her mind. Her heart lurched and she nearly jumped out of her skin. The hated surge of adrenaline sent shudders through her. Not expecting anyone, she stared at the open door of her office. Clamping down on unexpected, irrational panic, she cursed herself for over reacting like a scared ninny. When the bell rang again, she forced her body to move.
Everything Damien taught her rolled through her mind as she went down the stairs.
Prepared to do bodily harm to anyone she did not know, she grasped the doorknob with a shaking hand. She turned the knob, slowly pulled the door open—and reeled as shock drained the blood from her head. Damien stood on her door step, dressed to kill in a dark blue Navy uniform. Gleaming metals hung on his chest. His pistol rested in a gleaming white holster.
Her jaw dropped. Her heart stopped then lurched into a panicked beat. Her breath caught in her throat. She blinked but he still stood in front of her. He was not a figment of her heart’s yearning.
“Damien?” Afraid to break whatever spell held her, she hardly dared to breathe.
In a blur of movement, he had her in his arms and his mouth fastened on hers. Abruptly lightheaded in a rapid surge of desire, she staggered and clutched at his shoulders for support.
Her lips parted automatically to the invasion of his prowling tongue. Pure shocking sensation swamped her. Her head spun feverishly until, oxygen starved, she dragged her mouth from his to suck air.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded breathlessly as she stumbled out of his arms.
Only her hand curled around the door knob kept her on her shaky feet.