Always a Warrior(64)
Damien glared a warning at Neal. “Damn it. I loved her. But she did not fit into my life.
As a SEAL, there is no possibility of anything else in my life.”
ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening
93
He raked a trembling, frustrated hand through his hair and attempted to explain something he did not fully understand. “She’s all I think about. What is she doing? Is she all right? Does she remember me and what we had?”
“You just need to get laid,” Neal interrupted caustically.
“I don’t want another woman!” Damien snarled on a sudden surge of anger. “Damn it, I want her! Did she find someone else—someone more average and ordinary?” He trailed off into low muttering.
“She didn’t accept you as you are?” Neal countered indignantly. “Then she’s not the one you need.”
“I didn’t give her the chance,” Damien admitted harshly. Memory clouded his thoughts, tugged at his heart as he stared into space. “She told me she loved me. I wonder if she meant it.”
The taut silence lingered for a moment before Neal’s chuckle broke it. “She must have felt something. It was a great shot—moving tango at three hundred meters.”
“Yeah.” Damien grinned with a flash of pride. Then he scowled. “Why didn’t you just drag her out? Why stop?”
Neal shot him a skeptical look. “Shit. She damn near blew my head off before I convinced her I wasn’t the enemy. She only missed me by half an inch—using your gun! You expect me to argue with her?” He grinned again. “Besides, she saved your miserable life—twice.
She should get a medal for that.”
Though Damien smiled in brief amusement, he wondered if Laurie’s rationalizations before he had left her for good six months earlier were true. Was this relationship only sex and adrenaline and gratitude? His heart clenched. He had thirty days to find out.
“Opted for discharge?” Neal queried lightly but his eyes were serious.
“Not yet.” Damien shrugged as he stared at the floor but it wasn’t the casual gesture he needed. “I’ve got thirty days to find out if I can be a civilian—to find out if she loves me or ever did.”
“All right, Damien,” Neal said resignedly. “Do what you have to do but ….” He paused until Damien looked up at him again.
“Make sure it’s the right choice,” he finished seriously, “for both of you.”
* * * *
Unable to sleep, Laurie Crawford idly flipped through television channels. But nothing caught her attention enough to actually watch. Gradually, over the last six months, her life had settled back into normal routine. In a little over a month, the school year would end and summer routine would start. Except in her decreasingly frequent nightmares, Laurie had almost managed to forget the terrorists. She no longer woke screaming in the dark but some times tossed and turned all night.
Forgetting Damien, McAllister had proven much more difficult. At unguarded moments, she thought about him, wondered where he was, what he was doing—if he still lived. She found herself watching the news much more closely, wondering which of a dozen hotspots around the world Damien risked his life in. Passionate memories and erotic images invaded her sleep, often waking her with a burning need for him.
“Shit,” she groaned. Even after six long, lonely months she could not get him out of her mind—certainly not out of her heart. During daylight hours, she forced herself to shove his memory aside and concentrate on work. But in the dark of night, she cursed herself and him for his constant intrusions into her dreams. It was only memory, not reality.
ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening
94
The sharp peal of the doorbell jerked her out of her thoughts. Her heart lurched into a faster beat. Her hands clenched into fists. She shot a quick glance at the clock. Ten thirty at night was far too late for visitors. Terrorists or criminals, she wondered? Panic surged without warning. Her head snapped around and she stared at the front door.
“Get a grip,” she muttered breathlessly. Terrorists and criminals did not ring doorbells.
She walked slowly to the door, which had no window or peephole. Fear was an icy trickle down her spine. She wasn’t quite as relaxed from her violent experience as she believed.
“Stop being an idiot,” she ordered herself and reached for the doorknob.
The doorbell assaulted her ears again and she flinched hard. She took a deep breath, twisted the knob, and pulled the door open. Her mind simply shut down as she gaped in shock at Damien. He stood on her doorstep wearing jeans, black T-shirt, leather jacket, and sneakers. He still wore the Ruger .45 on his hip. Her breath caught in her throat and she nearly choked.